


A Dragon's Voice

by NotLikeYouThink



Series: Chronicles of a Dragon [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Bleak Falls Barrow, Character Death, Dragonborn-Centric, Dragons, Elsebet-Centric, Gen, Helgen, High Hrothgar, Ivarstead, Morthal, Multiple Daedric Quests, Multiple Side Quests, Original Character Death(s), Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic pairing, Riverwood, Running Away, Skyrim Main Quest, Sovngarde, Throat of the World, Ustengrav, Whiterun, a lot of dragons, friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2018-12-15 15:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 40
Words: 93,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11808834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotLikeYouThink/pseuds/NotLikeYouThink
Summary: Elsebet Kind-Heart was probably the nicest person you could meet, but she sought adventure and a life away from her home in Winterhold. On her nineteen birthday, she leaves the once-great town she calls home and heads for Falkreath, planning to start far from where anyone knew her as the daughter of a retired mage and a father that ran away.Fate works in weird ways, and she finds herself in the company of an Imperial sellsword named Risorallen, who himself ran away from home after being attacked by a werewolf several years earlier, not wanting to hurt his family. As the destined Dragonborn of prophecy, Elsebet finds herself knee-deep in adventure as everyone needs help, but only Risorallen is there to help her when she needs it.





	1. There Be Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Yes, I know I haven't updated _Dragon's Blood_ , but there is a perfectly logical explanation: my Word expired and I can't get another one, and I wrote it all on Word. So, instead, I give you this: a new story I wrote on Pages!
> 
> And, yes, I know the Great Collapse happened earlier in history, but I did it eight years earlier in stead of eighty because I misread the date it happened and I put a lot of plot around it.

_I brought the light to my face and smiled. He was surprised, even stunned by the pallor of my flesh, the dark hunger in my ageless eyes, and the teeth. Oh, yes, I think the teeth definitely surprised the man who could not afford to be surprised._

_“I have’t fed in seventy-two hours,” I explained, as I fell on him. He did not land the first blow or the last._

Elsebet Kind-Heart closed the book, tracing over the gold lettering sunken into purple leather. _Immortal Blood_ had been on her reading list since she could remember, and she was glad she finally got around to it. She placed it in her pack, leaning back and looking at the aurora above her, the cart she was riding in jostling her around. She was alone in the carriage, save the carriage driver, and that she was glad for that. She liked being alone, lost in her thoughts.

The two moons, Masser and Secunda, lit up the night sky along with the thousands of stars that accompanied the pair. Falkreath’s pine forest passed slowly as the brown mare took her closer to the hold’s capital. She had just come from her home in Winterhold, wanting to make a change in the world, and decided to do that on the opposite side of the country where no one knew who she was; Falkreath. She had trudged through the snow to Windhelm so she could get a carriage, because there was no way she was walking all the way to the small town, and there were no stables in Winterhold; not since the Great Collapse that happened eight years earlier, and her mother’s house had been one of the only buildings that survived.

The carriage lurched suddenly, the horse getting free from her reins and bolting away as fast as she could. Elsebet found herself over the side of the wooden wagon, her face an inch away from face planting the cobblestone road, the only thing stopping her is her dress getting caught on a piece of wood. The whistle of an arrow sounded, and she closed her eyes when the dull thud of iron meeting flesh filled her ears.

“It’s empty!”

“By the Eight, Er-La, I thought you said this would be good!”

An Argonian hissed. “There was a wealthy-looking woman on board!”

“Found her!"

Her eyes snapped open, and she saw her long red hair pooling on the ground below her. Something grabbed the scruff of her neck, pulling her up roughly back onto the carriage, where a Nord shoved her onto her back.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here.” He reached for her hair, taking a strand of it and twisting it between his fingers. “I’ve never seen hair this red before, even on a Nord.”

She kicked at the bandit, and he caught her foot. He clicked his tongue as she tried to kick her foot free, but he held firm.

“Looks like we’re getting lucky tonight, boys!”

The cheers of several men filled the air, and Elsebet saw three other bandits behind the one that held her foot. An Argonian, a Breton and another Nord. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.

An arrow appeared in the bandit over her’s neck, blood spurting from the wound as he let go of his foot, clawing at his neck. He fell to the side and grew still, his eyes wide open. Elsebet covered her mouth to stop herself from throwing up as the three other bandits drew their weapons.

Down the road, a couple archers clad in red and brown leathers drew their bows and took aim at the bandits. They let out battle cries and charged, but they didn’t get far before they fell, their blood spilling onto the cobblestone road.

This time, Elsebet leant over the side of the wagon and threw up onto the grass.

The archers ran towards her, putting their bows on their backs, several carriages that were waiting behind them following them at a walking pace. The first one that reached her held out a hand for her to hold on to while she climbed out of the wagon, and she let go once she had her two feet on solid ground.

She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“What are you doing out here by yourself?” He asked.

“I wasn’t by myself.” She turned and pointed at the dead carriage driver. “He was with me. Good lot that did, though.”

He chuckled slightly, and she smiled again.

“I was headed for Falkreath.”

He nodded. “We’re heading for Helgen, which isn’t too far from here. If you want you can join us, and when we get there you can rest and borrow a horse.”

“Thank you, uh…”

“Hadvar.”

“Elsebet.”

The convoy—because that was what it was—had reached them, and Hadvar and Elsebet lagged behind the first carriage, that hold four people, two clad in blue Windhelm colours, and Elsebet realised that they were Stormcloaks. But if they were Stormcloaks, then these people were Imperial soldiers.

She’d heard from her brother that the Imperial Legion had come to Skyrim to rid it of the rebel Stormcloaks, and the siblings had agreed that the Stormcloaks were menaces and needed to be rid of. She would join the legion if she could, but she wasn’t a warrior. The only weapon she knew how to use was a bow, and that was only because her eldest brother had taught her when she asked him to.

The walk to Helgen was quiet, except for the quiet chatter between the Stormcloak soldiers and a Nord in rags on the carriage in front of her. The fourth person, dressed in furs, was gagged, though she didn’t know why.

When they finally got to Helgen a couple hours later, Hadvar pointed her to the inn. She thanked him and entered the inn. She sat down at one of tables and pulled out one of the books she had brought with her. After much deciding, she chose _The Mystery of Princess Talara, Part 1_. Along with _Immortal Blood_ , it was on her reading list. She’d only brought books she hadn’t read before, and she used her honorary membership to the College of Winterhold to get the books from the Arcanaeum. She bit her lip as she remembered the note she left the librarian.  

> _Hey, Urag! Just borrowing some books; I’ll give them back the next time I’m here! Down below is a list of books I took._

She smiled as she opened the book, remembering the reason _why_ she got the membership. It certainly wasn’t because she wanted to become a student, even though she’d sat through some of the lectures on conjuration; no, it was because she somehow always found herself on the roof of the college, or in a quiet corner of the Arcanaeum with a book, and they were tired of having her sneak through the grounds just to get somewhere high or to read. Her parents also got honorary membership, only so they didn’t have to be accompanied whenever they wanted to collect their daughter.

Not even five pages in, the ground shook violently. The book fell from her hands and she gripped the table in front of her so she didn’t fall from the chair she was sitting on. When the shaking stopped, she leant down and picked up her book, stuffing it into her bag. She didn’t want to lose it; she needed to give it back to Urag once she goes back to Winterhold.

She stood up and, making sure her pack was secured to her side, made her way out of the inn.

She wished she hadn’t. Because, sitting on top of the tower in the middle of Helgen, was a dragon as black as night. It opened its giant maw and let out a cry into the sky, making the sky turn from blue to a dark grey, and flaming meteors started falling from the skies. She stood, mesmerised, only moving when one of the meteors fell onto the inn.

She ran away from the destroyed building, her arms over her head to shield herself from the flying rubble. She collided with something, and she was sent sprawling to the floor. Cuts stung her palms as they scraped against the cobble road, and people rushed around her, townsfolk running away from the dragon that was roaring above them and Imperial soldiers shooting arrows and spells at the beast from the deepest parts of oblivion. 

Someone grabbed her arms from behind her and lifted her up onto her feet. She spun around to see Hadvar grabbing her hand and pulling her out of the middle of the road. His grip was warm in hers, and the arrows in the quiver she hid under her red cloak knocked against each other as Nord pulled her away from the chaos.


	2. Why is the Keep Connected to a Cave?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2! Sorry it took so long to put up, I hope the next chapter won't take as long to write and get up.

Somehow, they ended up in the keep. Hadvar leant on his knees, trying to control his breathing, while Elsebet collapsed on one of the beds that lined one of the walls.

Hadvar straightened up, his hands on his hips. He looked over at where Elsebet sat on the bed, her fingers curled around the bedpost, her eyes squeezed shut, her breaths laboured. He understood; oblivion, he was having a hard time not to crawl into the corner and sob. Dragons weren’t real; at least, not anymore. That couldn’t have been a dragon, but… what else could it be?

“That was a dragon.”

He blinked at her as she opened her eyes. They were wet with unshed tears, and he saw that they were not brown like he thought earlier. Her left eye was a dark brown, yes, probably the darkest he’d ever seen on a Nord. But her right eye? It was a bright blue, and it shone like a sapphire in the light, made brighter by the tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks.

He’d never met anyone with two different coloured eyes before.

“Yeah.” He looked around the room. “We need to find you some armour. Do you know how to use any weapons?”

She nodded as he turned around, looking for armour. “A bow.”

“Good,” he said, opening a chest and finding a bunch of Imperial armour at the bottom, waiting to be used. He pulled it out and turned to Elsebet, almost dropping the armour when he saw her stringing an elven bow. “Where in oblivion did you get that?”

“I’ve had it on me since Winterhold,” she said, pulling arrows out of her quiver to count how many she had. They were steel, not elven, like her bow. “It’s been hidden under my cloak.” She nodded and put the arrows back in the quiver, standing up, the bow on the bed beside her. She undid the clasp of her cloak around her neck and let it fall onto the bed.

Hadvar saw that he hadn’t been mistaking her hair for the cloak; both of them were the colour of snowberries. He handed her the armour and turned around to give her some privacy, and five minutes later they were headed down the first hallway, Elsebet’s cloak around her shoulders but her hood down, unlike how it was before. 

There was a gate at the end of the hallway, and they heard talking on the other side of it.

Hadvar swore. “Stormcloaks. Maybe we can reason with them.”

She nodded, and Hadvar pulled a chain to open the gate. The two of them walked through when it sank fully into the floor, and Hadvar held his hands up to show that he didn’t mean them any harm.

Unfortunately for the two Stormcloak soldiers—a man and a woman—they didn’t get the memo, and pulled out their weapons. The man didn’t get far before an arrow found itself in his chest, and he fell to the ground, dead. Hadvar watched Elsebet knock another arrow from the corner of his eye as he unsheathed his sword, ducking out of the way of the woman and her steel warhammer. She slashed at her middle, and she blocked it with the handle of the warhammer. She raised it over her head, but let out a scream when an arrow went through her chest. The warhammer fell to the ground, and Hadvar made quick work of her, stabbing her through the stomach.

She fell to the ground, and the duo went to the iron gate on the other side of the room. Hadvar quickly unlocked it with a key he found in the first room.

“You’re pretty good with that bow,” he said as they descended a large spiral staircase.

She groaned. “I was aiming for their knees.”

He laughed, shrugging. “At least you hit them.”

She smiled at him, but it disappeared quickly when the keep began to shake, and the roof just in front of them fell, blocking the way they headed. Elsebet coughed at the dust that filled the air, covering her mouth to stop it from entering her body. Hadvar’s rough hand grabbed her arm, and she almost tripped in her too-big boots as he pulled her into a side room.

There were two Stormcloaks in there, and they were quickly disposed of. After fishing around for potions, since they were in a storeroom, they left the room through a second door and found themselves back in the hallway with the collapsed roof, only on the other side. The descended the stairs at the end of the hallway and they started hearing lightning. Elsebet took an arrow out of her quiver and knocked it, but didn’t pull the string.

Hadvar sighed. “Torture chamber. Wish we didn’t need these.”

She shivered when she heard the battlecry of a Stormcloak, and when they rounded the corner she saw the torturer throw a bolt of lightning at a Stormcloak soldier, and he fell to the ground, his body writhing before stilling. And the death of his brethren, the other soldier attacked the torturer’s assistant, but Elsebet raised her bow, pulled the string back to the corner of her mouth, exhaled, and let the arrow fly. It hit him in the neck—exactly where she was aiming—and fell to the ground, choking on his own blood. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

“You fellows happened along just in time,” the torturer said, walking towards the pair. “I don’t know how long we would’ve held them off for.”

“We need to get out of here,” Hadvar told them, a hurried tone to his voice. “A dragon’s attacking Helgen!”

The torturer scoffed as Elsebet spotted a book and knapsack on a low table. “A dragon? That’s nonsense.”

She made her way over to the book as the two argued back and forth. She picked it up and placed it in her pack, before opening the knapsack and taking everything inside of it—including several lockpicks.

“Forget the old man,” the assistant said. “I’ll come with you.” 

Hadvar nodded, then his eye caught on something. He started walking towards one of the cages on the edge of the room. “Looks like there’s something in this cage.”

“Don’t bother with that,” the torturer said, shaking his head. “Lost the key ages ago. Poor fellow screamed for weeks.”

Hadvar ignored him and turned to Elsebet. “Can you pick locks? I’m horrible myself, but we might need the gold when we get out of here.”

She nodded, pulling out one of the lockpicks she had just picked up and quickly picked the lock on the cage. She ignored the torturer as he scoffed and muttered something as she picked up the spell book and coins on the ground, raiding the pack on the man’s side then stripping him of his mage clothes, which would give her a bit of gold. She ignored Hadvar’s look as she folded the robes and placed them in her pack.

Hadvar turned and went down a corridor connected to the room, followed by Elsebet and the buff torturer’s assistant.

Soon, they found themselves in a room full of Stormcloak soldiers, all of them looking for a way out and discussing whether they should wait for Ulfric Stormcloak or not.

Elsebet pulled an arrow out of her quiver and took aim at one of the archers on the other side of the room. The arrow sailed through the air and hit an archer in the shoulder, the man jerking backwards slightly as he cried out in pain. The three remaining people turned their heads to the trio as Hadvar and the torturer’s assistant advanced from their position, Elsebet knocking another arrow.

After a couple minutes, the Stormcloak soldiers were all dead, the torturer’s assistant heading back to his boss. Elsebet took the arrows out of the two archers’ quivers and placed them in her own, as they were also steel. Hadvar led her through a tunnel, where he pulled a lever and a wooden drawbridge lowered over a gap. They crossed it as the keep shook again, and the roof caved in and broke the bridge.

Hadvar let out a breath as Elsebet inched towards the hole, the dragon roaring somewhere above them. “Guess we’re lucky that didn’t fall on top of us.”

She slipped on a couple loose rocks and she tumbled into the hole. She landed painfully on her side, luckily on a flat surface of rock. Above her, she could see Hadvar’s head poke over the side.

“You okay down there?”

She raised a hand and gave him a thumbs-up, groaning slightly. She stood up on shaky legs and brushed dust off her cloak. She picked up the arrows that had fallen out of her quiver. “I’m fine!” She put all the arrows in her quiver, then looked around for a way out. There was a tunnel to her left, and she looked up. “There’s a tunnel here. I’m gonna follow it, see where it leads. Stay there, I’ll come back.”

She saw Hadvar nod, and she trekked through the tunnel. It was only a couple metres before she came to a turn, a skeleton lying in the corner, a coinpurse and a healing potion next to it. She pocketed the two items before turning. She walked through a set of broken bars, and she vaguely wondered if the other side of the tunnel was hidden by the rubble of the roof. A stream of water winded through the cavern she entered, and she looked around to see a part of a fort, with Hadvar pacing up a series of steps, running his hand through his dark red hair.

She laughed quietly, then cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hadvar!”

The Nord jumped, turning to her. He let out a breath and jogged down the stairs and over to her.

She pointed to the tunnel she had just emerged from. “The tunnel leads there.”

He nodded. “I see that.” He pointed to another tunnel, this one bigger and easier to see. “I think that’s the way.”

The two made their way over to the tunnel. It winded around, and along the way Elsebet picked up a coinpurse that was tucked into a corner. They came to a chamber with webs everywhere, and a couple spiders milling around.

Elsebet took an arrow out of her quiver and knocked it. She aimed it at the closest spider as Hadvar unsheathed his sword. The arrow flew through the air and hit the spider with a _squelch_ , making all the other spiders in the roommate look at the pair and advance on them. Three larger spiders descended from the ceiling. The two made quick work of the spiders, and they both shivered once all of them were dead.

“I hate spiders,” Elsebet muttered as they went through another tunnel.

Hadvar pointed ahead of them. “There’s sunlight coming through there! It’s the way out!”


	3. Riverwood, the Home of Like Ten People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, this is out a LOT quicker than the last one, and I'm halfway through chapter 4. Enjoy it all!

The sun beat down on the Elsebet and Hadvar as they exited the tunnels under Helgen. The sky was no longer grey, and there were no flames in the nearby town. Elsebet tipped her face to the sun, the light making her red hair brighter. Hadvar couldn’t help but stare at it.

“You okay, there?” She asked him, making a grin appear on his face.

“Your hair is extremely red.”

Her cheeks went red.

“It’s not a bad thing. It’s gorgeous.”

Her face went redder as he pushed a strand of her hand behind her ear. His eyes widened and he pulled his hand back when he realised what he was doing. “Sorry!”

Her response died in her throat when she heard a roar in the distance, identical to the ones the dragon let out when it destroyed Helgen. Hadvar dragged her behind a rock as the dragon flew over their heads, towards a ruin visible in the distance. Hadvar stood up, watching the dragon go, a hand on his sword hilt, making sure it didn’t come back.

He sighed when it disappeared on the horizon, then held out a hand to her. She grabbed it and he pulled her to her feet. He wiped his hands on his kilt and looked at their surroundings.

“We’re near Riverwood,” he said as he looked at the ruin in the distance. “My uncle is the blacksmith there. He’ll help us.”

The two set off down the goat trail in silence, though it wasn’t awkward. They got to a main road and Hadvar led the way to Riverwood. The silence was broken several times over the couple of hours they walked, just talking about anything at all. Once Hadvar had stopped them when they got closer to the ruin she had seen from the cave, saying that he got nightmares when he was kid of draugr climbing down from Bleak Falls Barrow and eating him. She had winced when he said that.

When they finally got to Riverwood, the sun was hanging low in the sky. The quiet sound of metal being hit filled the air as the pair walked into the town. As they walked closer to the forge, the man that was banging against the anvil looked up, wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his hand. He paused when he saw the two sweaty and dirty people.

A grin appeared on Hadvar’s face as they got closer to him. “Uncle Alvor!”

“Hadvar?” The man called, putting his hammer down and running over to where the pair were climbing up the stairs to his forge. “What are you doing here? Are you from leave from…” He saw the condition the two were in. “Shor’s bones, what happened to you, boy? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Shh,” Hadvar said. “Uncle, please. Keep your voice down. I’m fine. But we should go inside and talk.”

He looked confused. “What’s going on?” He looked at Elsebet. “And who’s this?”

Hadvar’s gaze moved to her as Alvor looked at his nephew. “She’s a friend. Saved my life, in fact.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “Come on, I’ll explain everything but we need to go inside.”

Alvor looked like he wanted to argue, but he nodded. “Okay, okay. Come inside, then. Sidgrid will get you something to eat, and you can tell me all about it.”

He led them into his house, which was right next to the forge. It was warm and cozy, with a lot of stuff in it but it wasn’t cramped. A woman was placed food on the table, and a girl—Daphne, she guessed, judging from what Hadvar had told her about his cousin—was playing with a doll on a bed in the corner.

“Sidgrid,” Alvor told the woman, who had just placed a bowl of soup in the middle of the table. “We have company!”

Sidgrid almost dropped the soup when she saw who was with her husband “Hadvar! We've been so worried about you! Come, you two must be hungry. Sit down and I'll get you something to eat.”

Elsebet opened her mouth to protest, but she stopped her with a look.

“Now, now. Any friend of Hadvar is a friend of mine. Come and eat, then afterwards I can draw you a bath. You look exhausted, it will do you some good.”

She let out a weak smile. “Thank you.”

Sidgrid waved a hand. “It’s no trouble.”

Elsebet sat down next to Hadvar as Daphne ran over to the table. She plopped herself down in between her parents and went for a piece of bread.

“Now then, boy, what's the big mystery? What are you doing here looking like you lost an argument with a cave bear?” Alvor asked, going back to why the pair were there.

They looked at each other before looking at Alvor and Sidgrid. 

Hadvar sighed. "I don't know where to start. You know I was assigned to General Tullius's guard. We were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked by… a dragon.”

Daphne dropped the piece of bread onto the floor, her mouth wide open, mimicking her mother.

Alvor laughed awkwardly, trying to rid the tension that filled the room. “A dragon? That's ridiculous. You aren't drunk, are you boy?”

Sidgrid slapped him on the arm, coming out of her stupor. "Husband. Let him tell his story.”

Hadvar sighed. "Not much more to tell. The dragon flew over and just wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I don't know if anyone else got out alive. I doubt I'd have made it out if not for my friend here. I need to get back to Solitude and let them know what's happened. I thought you could help us out. Food, supplies, a place to stay.”

"Of course! Any friend of Hadvar's is a friend of mine. I'd be glad to help however I can.” He turned to Elsebet “Like I said, I'm glad to help however I can. But I need your help. We need your help. The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenceless… You need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf to send whatever soldiers he can. If you do this for me, I'll be in your debt.”

Elsebet nodded. “Of course. I’ll leave tomorrow, once I have some rest.”

Sidgrid stood up. “Come, I’ll draw a bath for you.”

* * *

The next morning, Elsebet found herself refreshed as she exited Alvor and Sidgrid’s house, breakfast filling her stomach and directions to Whiterun in her head. First off, though, she wanted to sell a couple things she took from Helgen, so Hadvar had pointed her to the Riverwood Traders, the only general goods store in the small town.

The air was cool, so she wrapped her red cloak around herself, pulling the hood over her head to keep the sun out of her eyes. Her hair had been braided by Daphne, who insisted on doing it when the older girl had started, and she had done a pretty good job of it.

She walked the short distance to the Riverwood Traders and entered the two-story building.

The first thing she heard was the sound of arguing.

“I said no! No adventures, no thief chasing!”

The man behind the counter was yelling at a woman who looked like him, maybe his sister. She was glaring back at him.

“Well, we have to do something!”

The man seemed to have seen Elsebet, for he turned away from the woman and smiled at her. “Sorry you had to see that. How can I help you?”

The red-haired Nord walked towards the counter, an eyebrow raised. “Did something happen?”

He looked nervous, and it was obvious in his stutter. “J-just a break in, is all. Only one thing was stolen; a solid-gold ornament, in the shape of a dragon claw.” She shivered slightly. “Say, you look like an adventurer. I saw the thieves making their way to Bleak Falls Barrow, the ruin on the hill. If you can get it back for us, we’ll be in your debt.”

She didn’t really like people being in her debt, but she liked helping people. She smiled at him. “Of course. I’d just like to sell a couple things beforehand, if that’s okay.”

He beamed. “Of course! What do you have to sell?”


	4. The Start of a Beautiful Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the Divines, I didn't mean for this to take so long! I got serious writer's block in the middle of the chapter until my friend LukeytheArtist sat me down and made me write! I hope the next chapter comes out quicker!

Elsebet left the Riverwood Traders with lighter pockets, more gold, and an extra quest. She didn’t think anything of it; she’d quickly go through the ruin, give the claw back to Lucian, then head to Whiterun. She was sure she could put down a couple bandits, but just in case she headed into the Sleeping Giant Inn to see if there were any sellswords available.

As soon as she entered the inn, she heard the resident bard strumming lightly on a lute, obviously practising for later on in the day. Her eyes wandered around the room, looking for the tell-tale sign that someone was waiting for someone to hire them, and her different coloured eyes landed on an Imperial wearing a set of steel armour, a battleaxe over his left shoulder. He was sitting at one of the tables that lined the walls, drinking from a tankard.

She made her way over and sat down next to him.

He looked over, chestnut eyes full of curiosity. “Why are you sitting next to me?”

“Are you a sellsword?”

He shrugged taking a swig of whatever was in his tankard. “What’s it to you?”

“I’m heading to Bleak Falls Barrow, and I need someone to help clean out the bandits and the draugr.” She saw him raise an eyebrow and lower his tankard slightly.

“And why are you going to the Barrow?” He asked, turning fully so his shoulders faced her, giving her his full attention.

“I need to get something from there.”

The Imperial thought for a moment, before shrugging again. “Why not? Five hundred gold, and I’m yours.”

After swearing a little in her mind about the amount of gold she was about to spend for him to accompany her through _one_ ruin, she counted out five hundred septims and handed them over to him.

He smirked at her. “I’m guessing we’re leaving now, right?”

She nodded at him, and together the two stood up. “I’m Elsebet, by the way.”

“Risorallen.”

* * *

 

Bleak Falls Barrow was extremely bleak, as its name suggested. The grey ruins stuck out like a sore thumb as the snow fell hard on Elsebet and Risorallen. They were taking a small break from walking up a mountain and a short fight with bandits halfway up, as they were sure more bandits would be roaming the ruins, and they couldn’t do that if they were tired. After a couple minutes, Risorallen got to his feet and brushed the snow off of him, his black hair dotted in snowflakes.

He held out a hand to help Elsebet up, and she smiled up at him in thanks as he pulled her to her feet. She shivered as she wrapped her cloak around her, suddenly wishing she was smart enough to bring some padded armour, instead of her having to pry a set of hide armour off one of the dead bandits from earlier and put it on. It was freezing, and the armour revealed too much skin to be comfortable in that type of weather. Really, she was lucky she and that woman were the same size. Otherwise she would have still been in the dress she wore at Helgen, though it had been washed and cleaned by Sidgrid.

Walking low in the snow wouldn’t work for them, since Elsebet’s cloak was a bright red and her hair was the same colour, and Risorallen’s hair was as black as night. The pair stuck out like sore thumbs in the snow.

So, they charged at the ruin when they got to the grey stone stairs, Risorallen hoisting his battleaxe over his head to bash one of the bandits and Elsebet pulled an arrow out of her quiver and aimed at the archer above them. It hit him straight in the chest, and he fell heavily onto the stone floor. Risorallen kicked a bandit in the stomach and put his axe in her head. Another arrow loosed, and the man that was running towards the duo fell to the ground.

Risorallen pulled his battleaxe out of the bandit in front of his and put it over his shoulder, securing it to his back. After they searched the bodies for money and things they could sell, they headed inside the ruins.

It was damp inside, and Elsebet could hear the quiet chatter of two bandits not much further into the ruin. The two stepped lightly on the stone ground, careful not to step on any of the dead skeever corpses. When the bandits came into Elsebet’s vision, she raised her bow and knocked an arrow, aiming for the one facing her, a blonde Nord woman with her own bow strapped to her back. She let the arrow fly, and it hit the woman square in the shoulder.

She was jerked back as she screamed, her hand going up to where the arrow entered her shoulder. The bandit whose back was facing them drew his sword, the steel glinting in the light of the campfire next to him. An arrow hit him in the knee, and he crumpled as he let out a cry. The woman had drawn her own dagger, as her bow was now unusable thanks to her shoulder, and charged at the two. She didn’t get far before Risorallen’s battleaxe was buried in her neck. She fell down when he wretched it out of her. The other bandit’s cries was silenced by an arrow in his chest.

Risorallen wiped the blood that spurt onto his face with the back of his hand, and he wiped the battleaxe off with the hide of the woman as Elsebet put her arm through the string of her bow and walked over to the chest in the corner. She tried to open it, but it was locked, so she picked it open and took what was inside—a coinpurse, a couple gems, and a few daggers.

The two made their way down the tunnel connected to the campsite. It twisted and turned, and Elsebet kept her bow out with an arrow knocked, the string slack, just in case they were jumped by a bandit or a draugr. After about half an hour of walking, they got to a set of stairs that led down into a chamber, smaller than the first one, with a bandit standing in front of one of three stones, the outside ones with a bird on it, the middle one with a whale on it. The bandit nodded, then went over to the lever that was situated in the middle of the room. He pulled it, and a bunch of poisoned arrows rained down on him, and he fell to the floor, his body convulsing for a moment before stilling.

Dead.

The darts stopped and Elsebet and Risorallen gingerly descended the stairs and stepped into the brightly-lit chamber. On the far side of the chamber was an iron gate, with an antechamber on the other side. Above the gate were two heads, the left one with a snake in its open mouth, the right one with a whale, with a crumbling face in the middle, and a stone snake, almost crumbled, rested against the wall between the iron gate and the three stone pillars.

“I’ve heard of these things,” Elsebet said, pulling her hood off her head, showing Risorallen that her red hair was braided, and heading towards the first pillar. She pushed one of the sides and it turned slightly, a loud grating sound filling the air for a second. “You need to find the right combination to open the gate. A lot of them have traps integrated into them, and it looks like this one does too.”

Risorallen stood next to her and tilted his head to the side. “Do you know the combination?”

She shook her head. “No. There must be something in this room that says it, though.”

The two of them looked around the chamber for a moment before Risorallen pointed to the head statues above the gate. “Are those it?”

“Yes!”

She turned the pillars to show snake, snake and whale and almost ran to the level in the middle of the room. With her heart thumping, she turned to Risorallen, who was still standing near the pillars.

“If I die, give the golden claw you find later in the ruin to Lucan Valerius at the Riverwood Traders and head to Whiterun and tell the Jarl that Helgen was attacked by a dragon.”

He shook his head. “You won’t di- wait, Helgen was attacked by a dragon?”

“Yes, I was there,” she said, wrapping her hands around the cool metal of the lever. She glanced down at the dead bandit who had tried to solve the puzzle last. “Promise me, Riz.”

“One,” he said, holding up a finger, “don’t call me Riz. Two,” he held up another finger, “I’m not promising, because you’ve got the right combination. Three, you survived a dragon attack, I’m pretty sure you’ll survive a few poisoned darts.”

She gulped down air and nodded. “Okay. Okay.”

She gripped the metal lever harder and pulled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been making titles that I've changed here and I'm wondering if you want me to replace the names with the original ones. Here's a preview of the first chapter's title:
> 
> Falkreath, oh Falkreath. Wherefore Art Though Falkreath
> 
> All of them are like that. Tell me if you do!


	5. That's One Giant Ass Spider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! I had a huge writing spurt yesterday and I finished this chapter super early so here you go! Chapter 6 is halfway done and I promise it will be out soon!
> 
> Soon enough, the chapters are going to get longer, so look out for that!
> 
> Also, I've decided to keep the original titles I have in my Pages document so you can look through those if you want!

Elsebet waited for the pain of poison coursing through her veins, but it never came. Instead, she heard iron on stone as the iron gate in front of her slid into the ground. She let out a chocked laugh, and felt the arms of Risorallen wrap around her as she started to fall to the ground. He stopped her halfway, as she let out a few giggles.

“I’m not dead.”

“Told you."

She stood up and pushed him away from her slightly, a grin on her face showing she didn’t mean it. She motioned to the open antechamber. “Shall we?”

He let out a couple chuckles as the two of them went through the now-open gate. Elsebet pulled her bow off her shoulder in case of an ambush of bandits, but she doubted it since that bandit in the chamber behind them couldn’t open the door. She pulled a few coins and gems from the burial urns on a table and pocketed a book called _Thief_ as Risorallen pulled a chain to close the iron gate.

Elsebet’s head flew up when she heard the familiar squeaks of several skeevers. Risorallen took out a dagger from his boot as she knocked an arrow. She pulled the string as she turned around, facing a wooden spiral staircase sunk into the ground and led further into the ruin. The first skeever appeared from the hole and she let the arrow fly, hitting the body with a sickening _thud_. The next one came out and launched itself at Risorallen, who brandished his dagger as the third came out. It jumped at Elsebet, and she swung her bow at it before it landed on her. It flew into the wall as Risorallen kicked his off of him and sunk his dagger into its hide. She pulled an arrow out of her quiver to knock it but it charged at her again, and she thrust the arrow at it. It pierced it’s spinal cord, and fell limp on the end of the arrow.

She grimaced as she put her boot on the body of the dead animal to pull the arrow out, and she almost threw up as the stench of matted fur hit her nose. She covered her nose as she wiped the blood off on a piece of linen resting on the table, throwing one at Risorallen when he asked for one so he could wipe his dagger off.

She placed the blood-stained—but clean—arrow back in the quiver as Risorallen put his dagger in his boot. He stood up straight and the two descended the spiral staircase.

It didn’t lead down far; just far enough that they were a floor underneath the antechamber, with a wide tunnel leading forward, back under where they came from. Elsebet picked up the scroll and poison resting on a table before venturing down the sloping tunnel, relishing in the silence between them.

They turned at the end of the tunnel once Elsebet picked up a small coinpurse next to a skeleton and found themselves faced with spiderwebs. Elsebet shivered slightly as Risorallen reached into his boot to take out his dagger and cut the spiderwebs down so they could actually pass through, since it was thick enough for it to be solid.

After replacing his dagger, Risorallen lead the way into the chamber, which was as tall as the first chamber but not nearly as wide. There were spiderwebs lining the walls, with bodies of people and skeevers having been sucked dry of all their fluids ages ago. On the other side of the room, there was a Dark Elf trapped in spiderwebs, struggling to get out.

“Oh no, here it comes again!”

She heard Risorallen swear and looked up as a giant—although, judging by the cuts and scrapes on its massive body, wounded—spider descended from the ceiling on a piece of web, and she almost fainted at the sight of it.

She didn’t though.

She reached over her shoulder and pulled an arrow out of her quiver as the spider touched the ground and spat poison at Risorallen, who quickly rolled out of the way and took his battleaxe off his back. She knocked her arrow and aimed as he slashed at the spider, cutting off one of the legs. It squealed horrifyingly in pain as green blood spurted out of the severed leg, and Elsebet used that distraction to fire her arrow, which landed between its head and abdomen. It let out another steal of pain and Risorallen buried his axe into its head.

He grimaced down at his axe as the Dark Elf sighed in relief.

“You did it. You killed it.” He flashed them a thankful grin. “Now cut me down before anything else shows up.”

“Do you have the Claw?” Elsebet asked, pulling an arrow out of her quiver and twiddling with it between her fingers.

His eyes widened in fear slightly. “Y-yes, the golden claw. I have it. I know how to open the Hall of Stories, as well.”

“Hall of Stories?” Risorallen asked, replacing his battleaxe on his back. “What’s that?”

“I-it’s a Nordic thing, they put their history on the walls just before the main chamber, with the claw as a key to opening it.” He looked at Elsebet. “You know what I’m talking about, right?”

She nodded. “Okay. I’ll cut you down.”

He sighed in relief and started thanking her profusely as she took Risorallen’s dagger from his boot and cut down the spiderweb. After several painfully slow minutes of repeatedly hacking at the web, cleaning the steel dagger, and telling the Dark Elf—who told them his name was Arvel the Swift—to stay still, he was finally free, and Elsebet handed the dagger back to Risorallen.

That’s when Arvel ran into the tunnel he had been trapped in front of, yelling that the secrets of Bleak Falls Barrow were his and he wasn’t sharing.

“The git,” Elsebet muttered. “Come on!”

The two ran after him, but as his name suggested, Arvel was swift. He ran ahead of them, gaining ground as Elsebet was not a runner and Risorallen was weighed down in his steel armour.

She stopped dead, her hands flung out to catch Risorallen’s arm as he barrelled forward. He looked back as he almost fell backwards from the loss of momentum.

He looked back at her, a bewildered look on his face. “By Arkay, you’re strong.”

He looked back at the chamber the two were about to enter when he finally heard the groans, and Elsebet saw her first draugr. In the dim torchlight, she could see it’s decaying sin as it clung to its bones, and though there was no muscle mass on the body, she could tell it was strong. It’s eyes were sunken into its skin, and they glowed a bright unearthly blue. In its hand it held an ancient-looking axe, and it was raised over its head as it went to split Arvel’s head open, but he stabbed it in the eye and it fell to the floor, the eyes no longer glowing.

He grinned in triumph and turned and ran down another corridor, but he was sent back as he stepped on a pressure plate, and a swinging spike trap hit him full-force and flung him into the opposite wall. He slid to the floor, dead.

Elsebet doubled over and threw up.

Risorallen scrunched his nose in disgust. “I’m guessing that was your first draugr.”

She nodded, covering her mouth to stop herself from throwing up again, though if her body really wanted to, all her hand was going to do was get messy.

She stood up straight after a minute. “I think I’m good.”

“You sure.”

She nodded again.

“Alright.” He entered the small chamber, the walls lined with alcoves, some of them empty, most of them filled with both decayed and decaying bodies much like the three draugr on the floor. He turned around when he realised she wasn’t following, and saw her eyes darting from alcove to alcove, and he smiled slightly. He extended a hand to her, and she gingerly walked over and took it in her own. “Those won’t be the last draugr in here, so we can either continue forward or backtrack out of the ruin. It’s your choice.”

She swallowed and glanced at the body of Arvel the Swift and shook her head. “We’ll continue,” she said. “Besides, I’m curious as to what’s in the main chamber.” She let out a small laugh, but he could tell it was forced. She pointed at Arvel. “Can you get the Claw?”

He nodded and let go of her hand, heading to the body. He checked through all of the pockets, pocketing the few coins he had on himself, and pulled out the golden claw with a thin leather-bound book, most likely a journal. He stood up and showed the claw to Elsebet, who was gaining her usual colour.

“It’s a lot smaller than I imagined.”   
She let out a chuckle, this one real, making a smile appear on his face. He threw the claw to her, and she put it in her pack, on top of all the books she still had from Helgen and the few she picked up in the ruin.

She looked at the swinging trap and pulled her bow off her back. “Let’s do this.”


	6. Some Kind of Choir. With Chanting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll, guys! I haven't really stopped writing since I started the other day so here's chapter 6!

Elsebet and Risorallen stood in front of the circular door at the end of the Hall of Stories, several nicks and and scratches on their arms and faces, and there were several holes in Elsebet’s cloak. She’d either have to ditch it or get a clothier to sew it up. She pulled the golden claw out of her bag and looked it over, then at the wall in front of them as Risorallen placed the torch he had found earlier in the ruin in an empty brazier.

“How do we open it?” He asked, rubbing one of his cuts on his neck.

She shrugged. “Is there anything you found in that journal?”

When they had rested in an antechamber he had read the journal, saying that the guy was dead, he wouldn’t mind. Plus he wanted to read, and he couldn’t find any reading material. Elsebet had then pulled all her books from her pack and set them down next to her, and waited for him to see them. When he did, he _hmfed_ and turned around, continuing to read the diary as she replaced the books in her pack.

He pulled the journal from his own pack and opened it to the last entry. “ _My fingers are trembling. The Golden Claw is finally in my hands, and with it, the power of the ancient Nordic heroes. That fool Lucan Valerius had no idea that his favourite store decoration was actually the key to Bleak Falls Barrow._

“ _Now I just need to get to the Hall of Stories and unlock the door. The legend says there is a test that the Nords put in place to keep the unworthy away, but that ‘when you have the golden claw, the solution is in the palm of your hands.’_ ”

He closed the book and looked over at his companion. “What do you think that means?”

Elsebet furrowed her brow slightly as she thought. “the solution is in the palm of your hands…” Her eyes widened and turned the claw over to see three carvings on the palm, a bear, a moth, and an owl. She looked up at the door and saw the three stone bands, each with its own carving on it. She placed her hand on the bottom one and experimentally turned it. The sound of stone sliding on stone filled the air, and she let out a cry of happiness. She turned all of them so it matched to carvings on the claw and set the claw in the spot under all the bands. She pressed it in and turned, and when she pulled it out the door slid into the ground.

They walked through the open door and ascended a set of stone steps. The main chamber was more like a cavern,with how large it was, and because the ruin had started turning into a natural cave. Bats flew above them, and sunlight filtered through a crack at the top of the cavern, and a bridge led over a chasm and a path led over to a stone platform, with a curved wall on it.

“Do you hear that?” Elsebet asked.

The faint sound of chanting filled the air and got louder the further into the cavern they got.

Risorallen looks at her, confused. “Hear what?”

Each step they took towards the platform, the chanting got louder, until it was deafening and Elsebet had to cover her ears.

“I think it’s coming from the wall!” Elsebet shouted.

“Why are you shouting?” He asked, but she didn’t hear him as she ascended the stairs next to the stone platform and slowly made her way to the curved wall. There were strange marking on it, looking like they were gouged into the wall with claws, and some of the markings were glowing. She lowered her hands from her ears and reached one out as she stepped closer and closer to the wall, like it was dragging her towards it. When she stepped into the curve of the wall, the carvings seemed to reach out of the wall and surround her, pulling her forwards more. Her fingertips touched the cool stone, leaving a tingling sensation throughout her body, and when she placed her hand on it she gasped.

The carvings— _words_ , she realised, in a language she didn’t know—brightened and jumped off the wall and into her chest, sending her stumbling back. She would’ve fallen to the floor if Risorallen hadn’t caught her. Her breathing became laboured as her eyes rolled back into her head, and then everything stopped suddenly. The ecstasy she was feeling, the light coming off the wall, and the chanting, all stopping so suddenly she almost fell again.

“ _What the hell was that?_ ”

She looked over at Risorallen, who had a bewildered look on her face, as the sarcophagus sitting on the edge of the stone platform opened up, the lid flying through the air and falling off the side of the platform.

Elsebet drew her bow and knocked it as Risorallen pulled his battleaxe off his back as the draugr climbed out of the sarcophagus. This one was different than the other ones in the ruin. For one, it had more armour, and the helmet it wore had horns on it.

Elsebet let the arrow fly as the draugr stood on both his feet. It hit his knee, but it didn’t seem to faze him as he took the ancient battleaxe off his shoulder. Risorallen ran up to him and buried his own battleaxe into its side.

“ _FUS RO DAH!_ ”

The shout had come from the undead’s mouth, and Risorallen flew across the room and landed hard against the curved wall. Eyes wide, Elsebet knocked an arrow and aimed it as the draugr ran at her, battleaxe raised over his head, ready to strike.

Everything seemed to slow down as she breathed. She aimed at its head and let the arrow fly. It landed between the eyes, and it fell into a heap of rotting flesh on the stone ground. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, but the breath soon left her when she head Risorallen groan.

She turned to him, dropping her bow on the ground and running to him. She knelt down next to him, her cloak billowing dramatically around her, and pulled a healing potion out of her pack.

“How much does it hurt?” She asked, uncorking the bottle, letting the sweet smell curl into the damp air of the chamber.

“A lot,” he groaned.

She gave him the bottle, and he tipped his head back and gulped it down. His face contorted in disgust as he threw the bottle away from him, which shattered against the wall.

“How can something that heals taste so _bad?_ ”  


Elsebet shrugged. “Dunno. Guess it depends on the ingredients.” She stood up and offered her hand to Risorallen, who took it. He let go when he was standing upright. “So, do we need to go through the whole ruin again or is there a way out?”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he walked over to the dead draugr. “This is your first dungeon, isn’t it?”

She walked over to him and nodded. “Yeah. Helgen was the first taste of adventure I’d ever had, if you don’t count sneaking into the College of Winterhold to read.”

“You snuck into the College of Winterhold to _read_?” He asked, picking up the ancient battleaxe the draugr had used to fight them. Elsebet noticed there were white lines snaking the hilt and blade, meaning it was enchanted, most likely with a frost enchantment.

She nodded, opening the chest next to the sarcophagus and pocketing everything inside. “Yup. I was a little book nerd. Got an honorary membership for me and my parents because they were sick of me sneaking in and having to escort ma and pa while they looked for me.”

She didn’t tell him the last time she snuck in was eight years earlier, when her father left just after the Great Collapse—except, of course, to get the books for her journey.

“Are you going to go back to Winterhold?” Risorallen asked, moving to stand next to her.

“I don’t know. I want to, but… my mother’s a retired mage, only retired because she hurt herself too much, and my brother and sister want to follow in her footsteps in joining the College. My brother, Istah, was in the middle of putting in an application when I left, and though I’m a lot closer to my sister, Hjolma, I couldn’t stay in Winterhold any longer.”

He furrowed his brow. “Why not?”

She rubbed her arm. “My other brother, the eldest of the four of us, Jorten, died during the Great Collapse eight years ago. I was eleven then, I couldn’t leave.” _Not like my father did_.

She turned to hide the tears that were threatening to spill onto her cheeks when something caught her eye in the sarcophagus. She furrowed her brow and went around the side of the sarcophagus to see it better. Sitting in the middle of the sarcophagus was a stone tablet, about a metre wide and tall and a couple inches thick. She reached down and picked it up. It was heavy.

She heard Risorallen walk up next to her and whistle. “That would’ve been uncomfortable.”

She glanced at him before looking back down at the tablet. “Why was it in the sarcophagus?”

Risorallen shrugged. “Important stuff is buried with important people, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but _why_ is it important?” She looked over at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Well, we’re going to Whiterun, right? We can get the-”

“We?” She asked, raising the other eyebrow.

He sighed. “Yes, _we_. You honestly wouldn’t expect me to accompany you through one ruin then let you out by yourself, did you? You hired me, and I expected I’d stay with you until either time runs out or you dismiss me.” He glanced at her, a playful smirk on his lips. “I hope you’re not dismissing me.”

She elbowed the Imperial. “I just thought it was just for the one dungeon, is all. Now, what were you saying?”

“We could take it to the court wizard at Dragonsreach and get him to check it out. We’re going there, anyway.”  


She thought for a second, then nodded, smiling up at the man that towered a heat taller than her. “Sounds like a plan. Now, back to the original question; how the _hell_ are we supposed to get out of here?”


	7. A Squabble Between a Housecarl and a Steward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm just going to update whenever I finish a chapter, I've been doing it since I started. That also means that yes, I finish a chapter every two days.
> 
> I just want to say thank you to all those that have kudo'd, commented and viewed this story. It means a lot, even though it's not that much.
> 
> Read on and enjoy the fruits of my labour!

When they got out of Bleak Falls Barrow, the sun was high in the sky, meaning they’d spent the last couple hours since around dawn in the dirty, filthy dungeon, re-killing dead things to get a dragon claw-shaped object made of solid gold for a merchant who couldn’t even go the building over and hire a mercenary because he was too lazy.

The two of them trudged the short distance to Riverwood and entered the Riverwood Traders. Lucan Valerius looked up from a book he was reading and grinned when he saw who it was.

“You’re back!” He shouted in greeting. “Did you get the claw?”

Honestly, she was ready to stab him with an arrow. She had just spent several hours in an old crypt and he didn’t even have the decency to say hello. 

“Yes,” she spat. “I have the stupid claw.”

She pulled it out of her pack and dropped it on the bench. The shopkeeper’s eyes widened.

“Thank you, so much! Here,” he ducked underneath the bench and when he stood up straight, he held out a fat coinpurse to her, “take this. You’ve earned it for bringing back the claw.” She took it from him, weighed it in her hand for a second, then placed it in her pack. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

A sly grin appeared on her face as she opened her pack. “Well, now that you mention it…”

* * *

After selling most of the loot they had gathered in Bleak Falls Barrow, Elsebet and Risorallen headed for Whiterun. The sun beat down on them, and Elsebet had folded up her cloak and put it in her pack because there were too many holes in it to give her warmth. It was the end of summer, just a couple weeks before autumn set in, and it was getting colder and colder every day. She needed to get her cloak fixed before it got colder.

The duo walked in silence, like they always did, and soon enough they passed the stables and made their way up the path to Whiterun. As they approached the massive doors that would lead into the city, a guard stopped them.

“Halt!” He said, holding out a hand with his other resting on his sword. “City’s closed with the dragons about. Official business only.”

Elsebet straightened her back. “Riverwood calls for the Jarl’s aid.”

The guard seemed taken aback. “Okay, then. Jarl’s palace is at the top of the hill.” He walked up to the gate and unlocked it with a key he took from a concealed pocket. He pushed the door open and nodded at the two as they passed. Elsebet nodded back.

They walked over a bridge and passed a blacksmith arguing with a customer, a man dressed in Imperial armour. They walked up between a couple buildings and into the main market square. 

Risorallen still had the battleaxe he had taken from the draugr in the Barrow, and he wanted to disenchant it. He told Elsebet he dabbled in enchanting when she had asked why he didn’t sell the ancient thing. If he couldn’t disenchant it he would either sell it to the court mage or the blacksmith they passed.

They climbed a set of stairs after Elsebet sold a jewelled necklace Lucan hadn’t had enough money for to the old lady outside what looked like an inn. She had eyed the meat stand as well, wanting some fresh venison as all she’d had to eat lately was stuff that could be preserved easily and packed for a long trip, except, of course, the dinner she’d had with Alvor, Sidgrid and Hadvar the day before.

They passed a dead tree and an upturned boat, which she recognised was the legendary hall of warriors, Jorrvaskr. Outside the front, halfway up the stairs, a teenaged boy, a couple years younger than Elsebet, was yelling at someone clad in wolf armour. She didn’t hear what they were saying, except for when the boy turned on his foot and stomped away from the man.

“I’m going to the College and you can’t stop me!”

A man appeared next to the other one, looking a lot like him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Risorallen nudged her, and she looked over at him. “You okay?”

She nodded, glancing back at where the two men were entering the hall. “Yeah. Let’s go talk to the Jarl.”

They trudged up the many stairs leading to Dragonsreach, and the guards nodded in greeting as they passed over the bridge, and Elsebet swore she saw a skeleton bobbing through the wooden boards that made the bridge.

Although the main room of Dragonsreach was massive, it had a warm, inviting feel to it. There were two kids arguing between two pillars, and a maid was trying to break them up, but they were ignoring her. Guards loitered around, lazily guarding the palace as no one would have the audacity to break in. The large fire in the centre of the hall, raised to oversee everything, roared, providing the much-needed warmth to warm Elsebet up. On either side of it was a table, as long as the fire, and the throne sat at the end of it, Jarl Balgruuf the Greater lounged on it as he spoke to what looked like his steward and housecarl.

As the two approached, the Dunmer talking to the Jarl, dressed in leather armour with a sword by her side, turned to them and drew her sword, stopping the talk between the Jarl and his steward.

She approached them. “What is the meaning of this interruption? The Jarl isn’t seeing any visitors.”

Elsebet’s eyes widened as the firelight glinted off the sharp edge of the Dark Elf’s sword, and she swallowed the saliva building in her mouth. “I, uh, have news about the dragon attack.”

The sword lowered slightly as the Elf blinked her red eyes. “Well, that explains why the guards let you in.” She sheathed her sword and gestured to Jarl Balgruuf. “The Jarl will want to speak to you personally.”

She nodded at her before walking over to the Jarl, butterflies filling her stomach. Risorallen stood a couple steps behind her, arms crossed over his chest and a fierce look on his face. Just like a mercenary should.

“You have news of Helgen?”

His voice was deep, and had the familiar twang most Nords had.

She nodded. “Yes, my Jarl. I was there.”

The Jarl’s eyebrows raised, along with the steward’s and housecarl’s.

“Truly?”

She nodded again. “Yes. I was resting while heading to Falkreath when the dragon attacked. It was as black as night, and it’s eyes were blood red.” She shuddered at the memory of those eyes locking on her when she exited the inn. “I only escaped because of the help of an Imperial soldier named Hadvar, who helped me to Riverwood and asked for your aid. When we left Helgen, the dragon flew overhead and towards Bleak Falls Barrow.”

Jarl Balgruuf’s fist came down on the arm of the throne so fast it made Elsebet jump slightly. “By Ysmir, Irileth was right!” He turned to his steward, a balding Imperial man. “What do you say now, Proventus? Should we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a _dragon?_ ”

Irileth turned to the Jarl. “We should send some troops to Riverwood at once. It’s in the most immediate danger-”

“The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He’ll assume we’ve joined Ulfric’s side and attack him!” Proventus cut the Dunmer off, almost shouting. “We should not-”

“Enough!” Jarl Balgruuf shouted, cutting off both of them. “I will not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people. Irileth, send a detachment of troops to Riverwood at once.”

Irileth nodded. “Of course, my Jarl.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Proventus said, “I’ll return to my duties.”

“That would be best.” The Jarl looked at Elsebet with a kind smile. “Well done. You caught me out, on your own initiative. You’ve done Whiterun a service, and I won’t forget it.” He snapped his fingers. “I do have a task for you, if you’re willing to do it.” He stood up, causing Elsebet to take a step back. “Come, we’ll talk with Farengar, my court wizard.”

Risorallen and Elsebet shared a look as the Jarl led the way down the raised dias and through the giant doorway on the right side of the palace. A man dressed in blue mages robes looked up from the desk he was writing on, putting down his quill.

“Can I help you?”

“I think these two can help with the… _dragon_ project.”

Farengar blinked at him for a second. “Ah, yes.” He turned to Elsebet and Risorallen. “I need you two to fetch me something. Well, when I say fetch, I mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of a stone tablet that may or may not be there.”

“Stone tablet?” Risorallen asked, glancing at Elsebet.

The wizard nodded. “Yes. It’s in Bleak Falls Barrow, I think. Most likely in the main chamber.”

“Uh, about that…” Elsebet said. She pulled the tablet out of her pack and held it up in front of her. “Is this it?”

“The dragonstone!” He almost laughed as he took it from the Nord girl. “When did you get this?”

“Earlier today,” Risorallen said. “We had to go to Bleak Falls Barrow to get something back for a shopkeeper that a couple bandits stole. We figured it was important so we were bringing it to you to study it.”

Farengar let out a laugh and placed the dragonstone on his desk. He turned back to them. “If you want a reward, I can talk to Jarl Balgruuf for you.”

They were about to answer when Irileth ran into the room, panting slightly, hair and eyes wild. “Farengar, you need to come at once. A dragon’s been sighted nearby.” Elsebet and Risorallen exchanged a look as the Dunmer took in a couple breaths and turned to them. “You should come, too.”

Elsebet, Risorallen and Farengar followed Irileth out of Farengar’s chambers and up the steps beside the Jarl’s throne. Said Jarl was standing in the middle of what looked like the war room, with a guard who was sitting on a chair, looking shell-shocked. His helmet was resting on his knees, pointed at him, and Elsebet thought he looked a lot like Risorallen.

The Jarl looked at the guard as Risorallen stared wide-eyed at him.

“What’s your name, boy?” The Jarl asked him.

He looked up at him. “Cyres Belinius, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to state up above but today's the last day of the term, so for the next two weeks I'm going to have more time to write, which means more chapters probably! 
> 
> As for the length, I'm estimating it's going to be over forty chapters. What do you guys think?
> 
> Also, keep an eye on the boy that stormed out of Jorrvaskr. He's going to be important later on.


	8. What Did That Watchtower Ever Do to You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! I just wanna say, most of this has been done by memory, with a little research and a bit of playing the game added in. That's how many times I've played it. Wow

Elsebet raised an eyebrow as the guard—Cyres—glanced over at Risorallen. The latter looked away and took as step back as Cyres looked back at Jarl Balgruuf.

“What happened at the watchtower?” He asked.

Cyres took a deep breath before he spoke. “It was fast—faster than I’d ever seen. Never ran so fast in my life. Thought the dragon would come after me for sure.”

“Good work, Cyres. Go to the barracks, for some food and rest. You’ve earned it.”

Cyres stood up. “No. I-I want to help.” He looked over at Risorallen. “He’s going to help slay the dragon, isn’t he? If he is, I’m going, too.” He looked back at the Jarl. “I’m not letting it kill my brother.”

Jarl Balgruuf nodded. “If that is what you want.” He turned to Irileth. “Gather up some guards, as much as we can spare.”

“Of course, my Jarl.” She bowed slightly and took off down the stairs, Cyres on her heels.

He turned to Elsebet and Risorallen. “There is no time to stand on ceremony, my friends.” Elsebet never thought she’d been referred to as a friend by a Jarl, especially not of Whiterun. “I need your help again. But I have not forgotten what you have done. And as such, I have instructed Proventus that you two are able to purchase a house in the city.”

They thanked him and left for the watchtower.

* * *

“I say we pool our money together and buy the best house we can.”

When they had gotten to the watchtower, it looked destroyed, with fire burning everything that wasn’t stone, but the dragon was nowhere to be seen. As the sun set, and the sky turning various shades of orange and purple, they waited for the dragon to reappear, hoping against all hope that it didn’t.

Elsebet looked over at Risorallen, slightly worried about his mental health. “What?”

Risorallen nudged his older brother, who was starting to fall asleep, and he jerked up and stopped his shield from falling to the ground. “The house.”

“Who said I wanted a house?”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, when the Jarl offers you a house, you don’t exactly say ‘no’. Besides, we need a place to store the stuff we’re not going to sell.”

“I met you _this morning_.”

He shrugged. “So?”

One of the guards pointed at the Ilinalta Foothills, and everyone looked over to see a dragon flying over the mountains. It roared into the sky, and Irileth rallied the guards around them.

“This is it!” She shouted. “Make every arrow count!”

Elsebet knocked an arrow as the dragon roared again, but almost dropped her bow when she realised that this dragon wasn’t as dark as the first dragon—Alduin, something inside her said. No—this one was brown. That meant that this was a different dragon.

The name Mirmulnir filled her mind, though she didn’t know why. She raised her bow again as the dragon—Mirmulnir—flew over the watchtower and let out a blaze of fire. She let the arrow fly, and it stuck in its hide. Arrows rained down on it as the guards let their arrows fly.

“ _YOL TOR SHUL!_ ”

A stream of fire came out of the dragon’s maw, and one of the guards was trapped in the fire. Elsebet looked away as the smell of burning flesh filled the air, and she forced herself not to lookat the body as Mirmulnir flew around the watchtower once more and landed heavily on the ground.

That surprised Elsebet. Everything she’d heard about dragons had been that they always fought in the air, but she guessed it would be tiring to continually fly around. It snapped at Cyres as he charged at the dragon, but he dodged and swiped at its head. It roared into the sky as Risorallen ran at it and hit the dragon on its neck with his battleaxe. Irileth sent sparks at Mirmulnir in a constant stream, and Elsebet continuously fired her arrows at it.

“ _YOL TOR SHUL!_ ”

Mirmulnir spewed fire on Cyres, but he ducked down behind his shield. When the fire stopped, he came out of the tight ball he made himself and peered cautiously over the top of the shield. If the dragon wasn’t attacking them, Elsebet would’ve laughed.

Cyres stood up and came around the dragon’s side, dropping his shield, then grabbed one of the dragon’s spines on it’s sides and vaulted into its back, grabbed one of the back spikes. He sheathed his sword so he could grab another spike while Mirmulnir tried to shake him off. 

Risorallen took out his dagger and stabbed the dragon between two scales, causing it to snap at him. He backed away though, and nodded at Cyres, who had unsheathed his sword again.

Cautiously, he crawled onto Mirmulnir’s head, raised his sword, and plunged it into it’s snout, using all his weight to move it between it’s scales.

He was thrown from its head as the dragon buckled. He landed on his brother, and the two toppled onto the grass. Risorallen glared and him and pushed him off while everyone stood around the dragon cautiously.

“Is it…” A guard swallowed, not bothering to finish his question.

Elsebet walked slowly towards it, arrow knocked. “I think so.”

They all jumped back, Elsebet dropping her bow, as Mirmulnir’s skin started to disappear in small flames, turning into translucent white light that gathered above the body for a second. They all just stared at the light and the dragon loosing its skin, just as the light turned down sharply and fast and heading for Elsebet. She was knocked onto her back as the light swirled around her then sunk into her chest.

A couple seconds later, the light stopped, and in front of everyone was a dragon skeleton, though no one was paying attention to it. No, they were all looking at the Nord on the ground, her red hair like a halo above her head as she huffed, out of breath.

When she caught her breath, she sat up. Her eyes trailed to each person in front of her before landing on her bow, which was a couple feet away. She stood up on her feet shakily.

“ _FUS!_ ”

The energy left her body unexpectedly, causing her to fly backwards again. The invisible force hit Risorallen, and he was pushed over where he stood, and Cyres came toppling down with him since Cyres was still holding his hand from when he helped him to his feet.Elsebet picked her head up from where she lay as the guards started whispering something about the Voice and Dragonborn.

That couldn’t be possible, though. There were no more Dragonborns, not since Martin Septim died trying to stop the Oblivion Crisis at the end of the third era. He had succeeded in stopping it, but he didn’t leave behind any heirs to carry on the dragon blood. And as far as Elsebet knew, she wasn’t a distant relative of the Septims.

But if she was Dragonborn, would that mean Hjolma, her twin sister, was also Dragonborn? It would make sense if she was, more sense than if she wasn’t.

She didn’t realise she was spacing out until Risorallen had grabbed her hands and hoisted her onto her feet. He rested his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes.

“Are you okay?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words were leaving. So instead she swallowed the saliva in her mouth and nodded. Then she shook her head. She closed her eyes as she scolded herself in her mind and just shrugged.

Behind Risorallen, Elsebet saw Cyres pick up her bow, and she reached for it instinctively. She didn’t let anyone touch her bow— _anyone_. It had been her brother’s, and she remembered when he had bought the bow, as she had been there. The family had travelled down to Windhelm on one of the few carriages that went to Winterhold and Jorten had spent his life savings on the bow so he could someday join the Imperial Legion. He had been the one to teach Elsebet how to use a bow when she got curious, and kept her from quitting when she couldn’t do it at first.

Out of her three siblings, she’d loved him the most.

When Cyres saw her reaching for the bow, he walked over to her and handed her the bow. She’d all but snatched it out of his grip and cradled it to her chest for a minute before securing it to her back.

Cyres eyed his brother. “I think she’s lost it.”

“She lost it way earlier than just now, Brother.”

“Again, Riz,” Elsebet said, “I met you this morning.”

Risorallen pouted. “Don’t call me Riz.”

Cyres clapped them both on the shoulder. “Let’s say we head to Dragonsreach to tell the Jarl about your being the Dragonborn, then hit the Bannered Mare for some drinks?”

Risorallen jokingly pushed him away. “Only if you’re paying.”

“I’m a _guard_ ,” Cyres said, flicking his brother’s head. “I get free drinks.”

Risorallen just poked his tongue at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: Since I wrote chapter 9 in less than twelve hours, I have decided to to post my chapter twice a week, once on Wednesday about 8:30 - 9:00 am GMT +8hr (Perth, Australia time) and about 1:30 on Sundays. If I can't write that fast, I'll take it down to just Sunday, but I'll tell you if I need to.


	9. A Summons to an Extremely High Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so if you didn't get the update for the last chapter, I now post my chapters on Wednesdays and Sundays, as they're the best days for me.

As Elsebet, Risorallen, Cyres, Irileth and the other Whiterun guards made their way to Whiterun, they all talked and laughed with each other and made plans to go to the Bannered Mare once they got back—except Irileth, of course. Her brow was furrowed and she wore a deep frown as she walked, head held high, exactly how the housecarl of a Jarl was supposed to.

Elsebet came up next to her. “Hello.”

She glanced at the redhead before looking ahead again as they passed Pelagius Farm.

Elsebet frowned slightly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” The words were short and seemed to be cut off, and they came out way too fast.

“Are you sure?”

Irileth stopped walking and turned to her, making everyone else stop and look at what they were doing. “Why are you talking to me?”

“You were frowning.”

“So?”

Elsebet’s frown deepened and she heard Risorallen suck in some breath.

“She should not have said that,” he muttered to his brother.

“Frowning is a sign of sadness,” Elsebet said. “So if you’re frowning, you must be sad.”

Irileth looked like she wanted to turn the Nord in front of her to a crisp. “I’m not sad.”

“Then why are you frowning?”

She growled slightly. “Because I am.” She turned on her heel and stomped up the road.

Elsebet followed her.

“Do you want to hear a joke? You know, you cheer you up.”

“I don’t need cheering up.”

“What do you call a Wood Elf that doesn’t lie, cheat or steal?”

“I don’t care.”  
  
“A dead Wood Elf!”

The guards around them snickered, but stopped when they received a glare from the Dunmer housecarl.

“A big Nord named Julgen was set on by a gang of thieves. He fought them furiously, but in the end, they beat him into semiconsciousness. They searched his pockets and discovered that he only had three gold pieces on him.

“‘Do you mean to tell us you fought us like a mad lupe for three lousy gold pieces?" sneered one of the thieves.

“‘No," answered Julgen. "I was afraid you were after the four hundred gold pieces in my boot.’”

Cyres almost fell down with laughter, and they all had to stop again because he couldn’t stand up.

Elsebet looked down at him. “It wasn’t that funny.”

“Why do you care if I frown?” Irileth asked her, her eyes still on the gate in front of her.

Elsebet’s smile returned. “Because if you frown, no one will see you smile.”

The Dunmer looked at her, blinking, obviously not having anything to say against it. She looked at the ground, then looked up to say something.

She didn’t get the chance, because a thundering sound filled the sky, causing the group of seven to take out their various weapons in surprise. Honestly, their fight or flight response was epic.

Several voices billowed, from the sounds of it, from the sky. “ _DOVAHKIIN!_ ”

They all stood there, weapons drawn and staring at the sky, before Irileth shook her head and sheathed her sword. “Come on, we need to get to the Jarl. We’ve dallied enough.”

With that, they all but sprinted to Dragonsreach.

When they got to the Jarl’s palace, Jarl Balgruuf was sitting in his throne, a worried look on his face as he rapped his fingers on the arm of the throne and talking to a bald man in scaled armour. When they passed Proventus, he told them that the Jarl had been waiting for them. They walked up to the Jarl, Irileth taking up her position next to the Jarl, a hand on her sword and looking ready to kill anyone who dare approach the man, and three of the guards heading back to the barracks to get ready for their night at the Bannered Mare.

“So, what happened at the watchtower?” Balgruuf asked. “Was the dragon there?”

“It was there,” Elsebet said. “We killed it, but the watchtower was destroyed.”

He nodded and sank back into his throne. “That’s good. But,” his eyes darted from Elsebet to Risorallen and Irileth and Cyres, “something tells me that wasn’t the only thing.”

Elsebet took a deep breath through her nose and let it out slowly through her mouth. “When the dragon died, it sort of… disintegrated. It’s skin disappeared and I sort of… absorbed… it’s… soul.”

The Jarl’s eyes widened, his brow becoming one with his hairline. “So you’re the Dragonborn?”

She shrugged. “I guess? It doesn’t really make sense.”

“How so?” The man in scaled armour asked her, a single eyebrow arched over his left eye.

“I have a twin sister. If I’m Dragonborn, that means she’s _also_ Dragonborn, but the soul didn’t split into two and head to Winterhold.”

Cyres snorted.

“The Dragonborn is Akatosh’s chosen,” he said. “There’s a chance your sister isn’t a Dragonborn, as well.”

“And if you _are_ Dragonborn,” Jarl Balgruuf said, a hand on his chin, “that means the Greybeards really _were_ summoning you to High Hrothgar.”

“Greybeards?” She asked.

“Masters of the Way of the Voice,” Risorallen said. “They live in seclusion most of the way up the Throat of the World, in a keep called High Hrothgar.”

Balgruuf nodded. “Exactly. And if they summoned you, there’s no delay. You should set out for Ivarstead in a couple days. But it in the meantime, for killing the dragon, I name you Thane, Dragonborn.”

Elsebet’s brows raised in surprise. “Thane?”

“Yes. You have done much for Whiterun. It is only fitting. The ceremony will be held in two days’ time, and you will be a member of my court.”

“Thank you, my Jarl,” she said, bowing her head.

* * *

 

When Elsebet, and Risorallen entered the Bannered mare—Cyres not there as he went to the barracks to change out of his guards armour—three people, two women and a man, waved them over to the table they were at, and they made their way over.

A Nord woman, with shoulder-length blonde hair and bright blue eyes, handed her a tankard full to the brim with mead. She sat across from her, and her fringe was in a small braid. She lifted her own tankard.

“To the Dragonborn!” She shouted.

Everyone else on the table raised their tankards and let out the same cry, including Risorallen, while Elsebet put her face in her palms as her face began to heat up. Someone sat down next to her and she peeked through her fingers to see Cyres was now dressed in a green tunic and tan trousers. 

“That was fast,” Risorallen said, staring at his brother.

“That’s because I didn’t go to the barracks, Brother,” Cyres said, nodding at the barmaid that placed a tankard of mead in front of him. “I have a house.”

“Dude…”

A hand appeared on Risorallen’s shoulder, and he looked up to see who had invaded his personal space. The man, a few years older than Cyres, had black hair and green eyes, and was wearing a grey tunic and grey trousers.

“If I had known my little brother was in town, I would have said hello.”

_How many brothers did he have?_

“I only got in a couple hours ago, Zedronymus,” Risorallen said, pushing his brother’s hand off his shoulder. The man—Zedronymus—pulled up a chair from a neighbouring table and sat on it backwards. “And that was only for a couple minutes before I left again.”

Zedronymus nodded. “Right. And that wouldn’t have anything to do with this dragon I heard about, right?”

“So what if it is?” Cyres asked. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m a _guard_. I was ordered there.”

“No you weren’t,” the blonde Nord that had given Elsebet her tankard said. “Your brother was going and you wouldn’t let Irileth leave without you.”

“Shut up, Jorrida,” Cyres mumbled into his tankard.

Zedronymus picked up Risorallen’s tankard and took a swig from it, causing a cry of indignation to escape the younger brother’s mouth. “So, did you guys hear the Greybeards.”

The Redguard guard, still in his Whiterun guard armour, rolled his eyes. “Everyone in _Skyrim_ heard it, Companion.”

Elsebet choked on her mead. She placed the tankard back on the table as she coughed up the mead stuck in her throat. Zedronymus was a _Companion?_

“You okay, Elsebet?” Risorallen asked, pushing his own tankard away from him since his brother had drunk from it.

“That’s you’re name?” Jorrida chuckled. “You know, I was content on calling you Dragonborn.” Elsebet saw Zedronymus’ eyebrow raise. “I’m Jorrida Starkad. These are Malilie Belute and K’alen.”

“Hi,” Malilie, the Breton guard, said, waving slightly at her.

“‘Sup?” K’alen asked.

Elsebet giggled slightly.

Zedronymus rested his elbow on the table and pointed a finger at Elsebet. “You’re the Dragonborn?” 

“Yes.”

He took a swig from his brother’s—now his—tankard. “We could use you in the Companions. Just lost a member to the College of Winterhold—Vilkas’ son, if you can believe it.” He glanced over his shoulder and glanced at a man in a tan tunic and trousers that was brooding over a tankard at the bar. It was the same man Elsebet had seen earlier, before the dragon attack, looking defeating as the teenager stormed away from him.

She finished off her mead and ordered another one.


	10. Why is the Mountain so Tall?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit late, but I was having a bit of trouble at the beginning of the chapter with where I wanted to go. But I got through it, and here it is, hours and 1 minute late.

Three days later, Elsebet and Risorallen set off to Ivarstead with the extra addition of Lydia, Elsebet’s housecarl, who had vehemently denied staying back at Whiterun while she was off adventuring and other dangerous stuff, claiming that it was her job to protect her and no one else’s. So, Risorallen had to accept the fact that if he wanted to continue adventuring with Elsebet, he had to share her with Lydia.

The trek was long, and the three of them spent it in relative silence. By the time they got to Ivarstead, the sun was setting, and as they had been walking since dawn, they entered the inn—Vilemyr Inn, the sign outside said—and almost collapsed onto one of the table benches. Elsebet face planted the table and was ready to fall asleep there and then, but Lydia shook her, told Risorallen to keep an eye on her, stood up and walked over to the innkeeper. They talked for a bit, she handed over some gold, and the innkeeper pointed to one of the rooms.

She walked back over to Risorallen and Elsebet and placed a hand on the Nord’s shoulder, making her jump slightly. Lydia pulled her to her feet and, her on one side of Elsebet, Risorallen on the other, walked her to the room the innkeeper motioned to and set her down on one of the beds, not bothering to take off her armour as she didn’t bring any spare clothing. Elsebet pushed them off her and rolled over, pulling the covers over her and started to snore.

The next day, she didn’t remember coming to the inn. Everything was blank from the moment she killed the blasted troll just underneath Ivarstead.

She sat up in the bed, noting which limbs and joints hurt as she moved, and looked around the room. Lydia was lying on the other bed in the room while Risorallen was sitting on a chair, arms crossed, one leg over the other, his chin resting on his chest as he breathed in and out slowly, showing he was still asleep. 

Elsebet threw her covers off her body and stood up. She made her way out into the common, where the bard was playing her flute in a corner, giving the room a more friendly vibe. The innkeeper was reading a book behind the bar, but looked up as she sat at one of the stools lining the bar.

He smiled kindly at her. “Nice to see you not stumbling on your feet.”

She put her face on the bar as her face went as red as her hair.

The innkeeper laughed. “I didn’t mean anything by it, lass. You looked dead on your feet.” He pulled a tankard out from under the bar and placed it on the wooden bench, then poured some Honningbrew Mead into it. When he saw her reaching for her coinpurse, he shook his head. “On the house.”

She looked up from the bar and smiled at him. “Thanks.” She took a swig from it and placed it back onto the bar.

“I’ve never seen eyes quite like yours,” he said. “They’re fascinating.”

“Thank you.”

The innkeeper cleared his throat as Elsebet took another drink, trying to rid the air of the awkward tension that now filled the air. “So, what brings you to Ivarstead?”

She swallowed the mead in her mouth and held the tankard gingerly in between her hands. “To climb the seven thousand steps,” she said.

“Hoping to catch a glimpse of the Dragonborn?” He asked.

The corner of her mouth turned up in a smirk. “You could say that.”

The innkeeper sighed and leant his elbow on the bar, his chin on his fist. “I bet he’ll be glorious. A warrior, too. A _real_ warrior. With a sword and shield, not all that archery crap.”

Elsebet almost choked on her mead. She looked at him incredulously. But—of course he thought the Dragonborn was a man, and not the acne-riddled nineteen-year-old from Winterhold sat before him, dressed in her hide armour, her bow and quiver full of arrows in the room next to them. Of course he’d think she was a warrior, not someone who only knew how to use a bow and nothing else.

Before she could open her mouth to cuss the innkeeper all the way to Oblivion, the door to her room opened and Lydia came out. She rubbed her eyes as she sat heavily on the stool next to Elsebet, still dressed in the linen the Dragonborn had seen her in when she woke up. Lydia smiled at her, and she smiled back.

“How are you this morning, my Thane?” She asked.

The innkeeper raised an eyebrow. “You’re a _Thane?_ ”

Lydia turned to him, her on eyebrow raised. “Is that a problem?”

He paled and took a step back. “N-no, I was- it’s just-”

“Spit it out or shut up.”

Elsebet looked to the left to see Risorallen leaning against the doorframe to their rented room, in full steel armour, his battleaxe on his back, just like when she had hired him four days before in Riverwood.  
  
Had it only been four days? It felt like it had been at least a week, but it had truly been just four days, and five since Helgen and the dragons’ reappearing. It was strange, how nothing could happen for years, then all of a sudden everything was happening at once.

But one thing at a time, and right then, she needed to climb the Throat of the World and talk to the Greybeards about her being the Dragonborn.

The innkeeper decided to keep quite.

Risorallen looked at Lydia. “You should get dressed. We need to head up that mountain.”

* * *

 

With scrapes and bruises littering their arms and faces from the various wolves and the blasted frost troll on the way up the mountain, Elsebet, Lydia and Risorallen trudged up the stone steps leading into the monumental keep that housed the Greybeards, stopping once to deliver a sack full of dried food in a chest outside.

High Hrothgar was as cold inside as it was outside, and Elsebet didn’t know how they could live in such a cold environment. The ceiling soared above them, and on the other side of the main hall an old Nord was walking down a set of stairs towards them, his grey robes flowing after him. His hood was up, and the only thing peeking out of it was a grey beard.

_So that’s why they’re called Greybeards_ , she thought, tilting her head slightly.

When the old man and the trio met in the middle of the hall, the man spoke, his voice deep, showing his old age.

“So…” he started, “a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age.”

“You, ah… summoned me?” Elsebet said, though it sounded more like a question. Honestly, she was doubting whether or not she really _was_ Dragonborn, despite all the evidence and proof.

“We will see if you truly have the gift. Show us, Dragonborn. Let us taste of your voice.”

As he spoke, three other old men in the same grey robes he wore came into the hall, making a semicircle around a circle of light in the middle.

Elsebet nodded and closed her eyes. She concentrated on finding the word she’d said— _shouted_ —three days earlier, when Cyres killed the dragon and she’d absorbed its soul. _Fus_ , she’d said, and as the word burned behind her eyelids and filled her veins with an unknown force, she realised the draugr at the end of Bleak Falls Barrow had also said it—except it had said _three_ words, not one. She didn’t know much about Shouts—hardly any, actually, since she’d always preferred reading fiction over history. Before all the nonsense that had happened over the past five days, she didn’t even know what Shouts were called.

“ _FUS!_ ”

The Greybeard staggered slightly, but remained on his feet, his arms steadying him. When he stood upright, he lowered his hood, revealing his grey hair and eyes, which were looking at her in some sort of contained awe.

“Dragonborn. It is you.” His voice held awe, as well. “Welcome to High Hrothgar. I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?”

“I want to know what it means to be the Dragonborn,” Elsebet said.

“We are here to guide you in that pursuit, just as the Greybeards have sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood before you.”

She blinked. “You mean I’m not the only Dragonborn?” If she wasn’t, that meant there was a possibility that Hjolma was a Dragonborn, too.

Master Arngeir nodded. “You are not the first. There have been many of the Dragon Blood since Akatosh first bestowed that gift among mortalkind.” He paused for a second. “Whether or not you are the only Dragonborn of this age…” He shook his head. “That is not ours to know. You are the only one that has been revealed thus far. That is all I can say.”

She nodded, straightening her back. “I’m ready to learn.”

“You have shown that you are Dragonborn. You have the inborn gift. But do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you? That remains to be seen.” He motioned for the three of them to follow him, and he led them to where the other Greybeards were standing. “Without training,” he said as he walked, “you have already taken the first steps towards projecting your Voice into a Thu’um, a Shout. Now let us see if you are willing and able to learn.”

He stopped walking and turned to them. “When you Shout, you speak in the language of the dragons. Thus, your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn Words of Power. All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power. As you master each Word, your Shout will become progressively stronger.” He motioned to one of the other Greybeards. “Master Einarth will teach you ‘ _Ro_ ’, the second Word in Unrelenting Force.”

As Elsebet made her way to Master Einarth, Master Arngeir kept speaking. “ _Ro_ means ‘Balance’ in the dragon tongue. Combine it with _Fus_ —‘Force’—to focus your Thu’um more sharply.”

“ _RO!_ ”

Master Einarth Shouted at the ground, causing cracks to appear in the stonework. She recognised the cracks were similar to the carvings she’d found in Bleak Falls Barrow, though slightly different and shorter.

The carvings started glowing orange, and melted from the stonework and into the air, curling around Elsebet, though this time she was ready. She braced herself, as the words all but slammed into her, and she felt the words run through her veins like fire.

Master Arngeir blinked at her, a bewildered expression on his face. Elsebet looked at her companions, and saw Lydia with her mouth wide open and Risorallen looking a little less spooked since he’d seen it before. 

“You learn a new Word like a master… you truly do have the gift.” Awe filled his voice again, and he cleared his throat quickly. “But learning a Word of Power is only the first step… you must unlock its meaning through constant practice in order to use it in a Shout.” He chuckled slightly. “Well, that is how the rest of us learn Shouts. As Dragonborn, you can absorb a slain dragon’s life force and knowledge directly. As part of your initiation, Master Einarth will allow you to tap into _his_ understanding of _Ro_.”

A white light came out of Master Einarth—similar to the light that came from the dissolving Mirmulnir—as he bowed slightly at Elsebet, and she braced herself again as the light circled around her and sank into her chest. Exhilaration filled her being, and it felt like she could run for hours without stopping, and she wasn’t a runner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Lydia is in this chapter, and she's joined Risorallen and Elsebet on their adventures! I couldn't leave our favourite (or least favourite, there is no in between) housecarl out of the mix!
> 
> Also, I'm thinking about making a new series, totally unrelated to this, but I have two ideas and I can't decide which one to start. So, I'm leaving it up to you. Would you rather:
> 
> Have a series surrounding a new Dragonborn, Rianiel Frey, daughter of Mercer Frey, and her struggles of keeping her Dragon Blood a secret from the rest of the Guild?
> 
> ~ OR ~
> 
> Have a series surrounding a Redguard mercenary, Adarandra, and her adventures in the city of Markarth with several Daedric Princes and her happy-go-lucky Bosmer best friend, Kirselyn Camomire?
> 
> Your choice!


	11. The Dreary Town of Morthal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it took almost a month to update! At first, I didn't know where to start the chapter, then I got writer's block, then I had several tests. But, you will be happy to know, I'm going to be doing NaNoWriMo this year, and I've decided to do it for this fic. It will need _at least_ 50k more until it's finished, so why not use the month of writing? I'm going to be updating on Wednesdays and Sundays, like I should have been doing earlier, but once November comes I'm only going to update on Sundays. The two days a week was too hard on me and is one of the reasons why I haven't updated in a while.

As Elsebet, Risorallen, and Lydia got back to the small settlement of Ivarstead, the sun was starting to set, so the three of them headed back to Vilemyr Inn and rented the room again. As they had climbed down the mountain, they had decided that they’d walk to Whiterun the next day, Elsebet would then buy a carriage to Morthal, and would then got through the ruins of Ustengrav alone—the Greybeards had told her she had to go alone.

Elsebet placed her weapons on the floor next to one of the beds and collapsed on the selected bed, still dressed in her armour. Lydia chuckled as the redhead started snoring lightly. Then she settled into a chair as Risorallen took the other bed—upon her insistence—and fell asleep herself.

They woke up at dawn, and set out almost immediately. As they walked the road they had travelled two days earlier, Elsebet told herself that when she gets back to Whiterun after crawling through the tomb she was getting herself a horse.

As the trio got closer to Whiterun, the sun was setting, and Elsebet parted ways with her two companions as she climbed onto the carriage outside Whiterun and told the driver where she wanted to go. He nodded, took her gold, and set off into the dusk.

Elsebet slept as the carriage jostled on the uneven road, and woke up as the driver went down a small hill and into the small settlement of Morthal. It was the only settlement in Hjaalmarch—except for a manor northeast of Morthal, but that had been sitting empty since Elsebet was a kid. She remembered her parents going on about the empty manors that dotted Skyrim—including one close to them in the Pale—and she stared at the far building as she hopped off the carriage. She thanked the driver and payed him his gold, then headed into the town.

Morthal was gloomier than she expected. There seemed to be a permanent fog over the town, though it was the end of summer. She could hear the faint chime of a nirnroot nearby, and there were deathbells around the few buildings and in the spaces between them. Elsebet had heard there were a lot of deathbells in Hjaalmarch, but she didn't expect this much.

She passed the Jarl’s longhouse—where people were yelling at said Jarl about something Elsebet couldn’t be bothered with—and made her way to the inn in the middle of town, where the carriage driver had pointed her to. She looked over her shoulder to see the carriage leaving Morthal. She sighed as she turned back towards the inn. She’d either have to wait for the next carriage or walk back to Whiterun.

She stopped again, this time on the deck of the inn, and stared at the house at the end of the wooden walkway. It was burnt down, only the base and the bottom half of the walls still there. She looked away from it and entered the inn.

She walked up to the bar and placed her hands on the wooden bench. “When does the next carriage to Whiterun come by?”

The innkeeper—a Redguard woman—looked over at her from where she was serving a Nord with wood dust on his clothes and sent the redhead a smile. “Next week, unfortunately. Do you want a room until then?”

Elsebet scrunched her nose. “Nah. I’ll just have tonight, then I’ll walk back tomorrow.”

She nodded. “Okay then.” She took a key out from under the bar and walked around it, heading to one of the rooms on the left side of the building. She unlocked the door closest to the entrance and gave the key to Elsebet. “This is your room. If you need me, my name’s Jonna.”

Elsebet nodded and took the key from her. The door closed behind her and she placed the key on her bedside table. She sat down on the bed and let some air out of her mouth. She looked around the small room. The bed she sat on was in the back corner, with a small wooden table in the opposite corner with a chair tucked underneath it. In the space between the door and the wall next to it, a cupboard was pushed against the wall, and a wooden chest was at the foot of the bed. The room was small, but the furniture fit smugly without it feeling overwhelming.

She picked up the key, left the room, locked the door, and went back to the bar.

Jonna was back behind the bar and the man that had been drinking there was gone. An orc was strumming a lute in the back corner.

“How can I help you?” the innkeeper asked her.

“What’s with the burned down house next door?”

The Redguard sighed sadly, looking out of the window next to the bar. “That was Hroggar’s house. Shame what happened. His wife and daughter were inside when it happened.”

Elsebet’s chest tightened. “That’s tragic.”

Jonna nodded, leaning on the bar. “That’s if you don’t believe what’s going around, though.”

Elsebet furrowed her brow. “What’s been going around.”

“You didn’t hear this from me, but word is Hroggar set the house on fire so he could be with Alva. He moved in with her almost straight after. The embers weren’t even cold.”

The Nord girl blinked. “What? That’s horrible.”

Jonna shrugged. “You can look into it, if you want. Everyone is just pointing fingers with no evidence at the moment. I suggest talking to the Jarl.”

Elsebet nodded, thanked her, and left the Inn. She headed towards the Jarl’s Longhouse, where the people that were arguing earlier were starting to leave. The back of her mind told her to leave Morthal’s problems alone and head to Ustengrav, but she was curious about the fire, so she would investigate it. Seemed like no one else was.

The Longhouse was warm, and inviting. There were several people milling about, doing whatever, with Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone sitting on the throne at the end of the hall. The Longhouse was a lot smaller than Dragonsreach, but that was to be expected what with the town being slightly bigger than Ivarstead. The old woman was talking to her steward, a smile on her face. As Elsebet approached, though, Jarl Idgrod looked at her, and her face became cold.

Elsebet bowed to the Jarl. When she straightened, she said, “I hear you want someone to look into that house fire.”

Jarl Idgrod blinked for a second. “Hroggar’s house fire?” When Elsebet nodded, she continued. “He lost his wife and daughter in the blaze. My people believe it to be cursed now. Who am I to gainsay them?”

“What does Hroggar say happened?”

She scoffed. “Hroggar blames his wife for spilling bear fat in the fire. Many folk think he set the fire himself.”

Elsebet’s face scrunched up. “Why would he do that to his own family?”

The Jarl shook her head. “Lust can make men do the unthinkable. The ashes were still warm when he pledged himself to Alva”

“So why haven’t you arrested him?”

“On rumour and gossip? No. But you, a stranger, might find the truth for us. Sift through the ashes that others are too fearful to touch. See what they tell you. Should you prove him guilty or innocent, I’ll reward you. Hroggar’s fate rests in your hands.”

_Seems like a lot of fates are in my hands lately_ , she thought.

Elsebet bowed again and left the Longhouse. She went over to the burnt house as the early-morning sun beat down on her back. She stood outside the house for several minutes, staring at the no longer smoking ruin of a house that held the memories of a happy family. Steeling her breath, she forced herself to enter the house.

The first thing she heard, as she stood in the middle of the house, a light snowfall starting, was the humming of a child. She turned around, and in the corner of the house was a young girl. She had long hair, in a dress. She was blue, her features obscured, and transparent. She was a ghost. She continued to hum as Elsebet walked slowly towards her.

“Who are you?” She asked the ghost child.

“Helgi. But father says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. Are you a stranger?” Her voice was childish, as she expected, but there seemed to be a hollowness to it, something… otherworldly. It echoed around the open space like it would in a tomb or crypt.

Elsebet shook her head, crouching down so she was eye level with the ghost. “No, I’m a friend. Do you know what happened to your house?”

“The smoke woke me up. It was hot and I was scared, so I hid. Then it got cold and dark. I’m not scared anymore. But I’m lonely.” A small smile showed on Helgi’s lips. “Will you play with me?”

“If you do, will you tell me who set the fire?”

The ghost beamed. “Okay! Let’s play hide and seek. You find me and I’ll tell you. We have to wait for nighttime though. The other one is playing too, and she can’t come out until then.”

Elsebet blinked. “The other one? What do you mean?”

“I can’t tell you. She might hear me. She’s so close.” She paused for a second. “If you find me first, I can tell you.”

Then Helgi disappeared, leaving Elsebet crouching in the snow, in the corner of a burned down house.

Now she needed something to do while she waited for nightfall. As she stood up, she looked at the sun to see what direction was east. Then she set off towards Ustengrav, and the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how was it? Was it worth the wait? I hope so. I don't know if I'm going to skip Ustengrav or not, but I'm definitely going to finish Laid to Rest. I want to pepper the stories with side quests and daedric quests, since it would be extremely boring with just the main quest.


	12. Another Dank Tomb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as I said, I am posting on Wednesdays and Sundays. I honestly didn't realise NaNo started on a Wednesday, so you're lucky I finished chapter 12 last night.

Elsebet hated walking through mud, and Hjaalmarch was full of it. She was glad her hide boots went halfway up her calves, so the mud didn’t get in them. She wished she hadn’t left her cloak with Risorallen and Lydia to get it fixed, since she was shivering in her armour. But it was probably for the best, since she’d been neglecting to get it fixed since it got all its holes back in Bleak Falls Barrow.

She sighed as her foot stood on a giant lichen. It had been a week since Helgen, and six days since she found out she was Dragonborn. It felt like much longer, especially the last couple days where she’d been travelling non-stop. She really needed a rest, and the carriage ride had helped her get some of it. She sighed again. She did not look forward to the walk to Whiterun—maybe she’d be able to cut through the mountain between Morthal and Whiterun, but she doubted it. Besides, she’d woken up once during the night and saw a dragon flying around the peak of the mountain—she did not want to get into a fight with a dragon, especially if she could avoid it.

She heard noises nearby, and she drew her bow. She knocked an arrow and let it rest, waiting to be pulled back and used. She crouched low on the ground, because even if it was a deer or something similar, it would be a great haul she could bring back to Morthal.

Unfortunately for her, though, it wasn’t a deer. As she approached Ustengrav, wizards came into view—necromancers, if the undead bandits were anything to go by. They were set up at the base of the tomb, with a fire and a lean-to. There were three necromancers and two undead bandits, the bandits standing watch as the necromancers lounged around, one of them warming his hands at the fire.

Elsebet took a deep breath and pulled the string of the bow back. She aimed at the necromancer near the fire and let the arrow fly. It hit him square in the chest, and he launched backwards, dead. 

The two dead bandits drew their swords as the necromancers readied some spells. One of the two remaining necromancers summoned a familiar, and the other one raised their dead companion.

Elsebet hadn’t fought necromancers before—oblivion, before Helgen she hadn’t killed _anyone_ , and there she was, already used to the idea of killing someone. If she wasn’t careful, the Dark Brotherhood was going to recruit her soon. 

She knocked another arrow and shot the necromancer that had raised the other one. It went through his neck, and as he fell to the ground the other necromancer and one of the bandits disintegrated. She shot one more arrow, piercing the last necromancer’s stomach, and the last bandit disintegrated.

She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and placed her bow on her back. She searched the two necromancers that were still whole for valuables, and took their robes off as they were enchanted, and they’d sell for quite a bit. She didn’t want to sift through the ashes of the three other people, so she ignored them and went into the tomb.

The musty smell of an old tomb and decomposing corpses filled the stale air, and Elsebet made herself look away from the dead body of a bandit, the dried blood around him showing that he’d been there for a while. She heard the quiet chatter of two more necromancers—a man and a woman—as well as someone mining something. She drew her bow and crouched low, like she did outside, and silently stalked to the top of a set of stairs, leading into a chamber with an undead bandit and the two necromancers.

She knocked an arrow, and let it fly. It hit the first necromancer in the shoulder, and his hand flew to his shoulder as he let out a cry. The female necromancer quickly summoned a flame atronach, looking around where the arrow came from to see where the threat was. An arrow appeared in her stomach, and she clutched the wound as another arrow hit her heart. She slumped over, and as she bled out the atronach she had summoned fizzled out of existence. 

The first necromancer had taken the arrow out of his shoulder and had healed it with a healing spell, but then an arrow appeared in his throat, and he was dead too, making the bandit that was mining the rocks away at the back of the cavern disintegrate.

Honestly, Elsebet was getting tired of necromancers, and she’d only been up against five—and she’d shot them with arrows with none of them knowing where she was. She didn’t want to go up against one if they knew she was there—she had been given a sword from Zedronymus during their off day the previous Middas, the day after Elsebet, Risorallen, Irileth and several Whiterun guards fought Mirmulnir, the dragon. He’d even given her a few lessons, courtesy of the Companions, and made sure she could use it properly.

The steel blade bumped against her thigh as she descended the steps, an arrow resting on her bow but not drawn, and stalked over to the two dead necromancers. Again, she took all their valuables, as well as the few books on a nearby table, and went down a side tunnel. She could hear the sound of lightning and draugr, and she concluded that the necromancers had woken up a bunch of draugr. She groaned inwardly as she turned the corner, bow drawn, waiting for either the necromancers to finish off the draugr or the draugr to finish off the necromancers.

Luckily, it was the latter, and Elsebet stepped over the dead bodies of four necromancers and two draugr and turned into another hall. She let the arrow fly, hitting one of the draugr in the back of the head, lurching forward, dead—again. The second draugr, who still had its axe drawn, ran towards her, axe raised. She quickly knocked an arrow and it pierced its forehead, and it went down like a log.

She let out a breath and searched the dead necromancers at her feet, ignoring the dead draugr in the hallway. There was no way she was going to touch them. When she got all the valuables off the necromancers, she picked up her bow—which she had placed on the ground next to her—and trudged forward. She turned down another corridor and found herself in a tall chamber, though it wasn’t that wide.  
  
She heard the sound of several sarcophagi opening, their lids falling from the standing coffins and hitting the ground with a reverberating _thud_. She knocked an arrow and fired it at the closest draugr, who was still stepping out of the sarcophagus, and it fell to the floor. She knocked another arrow and shot it at the other draugr, which had just drawn its sword, and he also fell down.

It was obvious that Ustengrav was filled with draugr. She groaned and continued down the hall.

At the end of the hall was a turn, and a set of stairs that went up and in a circle before she found herself in the chamber above the hall she was just in. She could even see the empty sarcophagi and the dead draugr as she stalked over to the chest on the bottom shelf of a forgotten bookcase. She pulled it out slightly and opened it, as it was unlocked, and pocketed the amethyst, gold and healing potions inside, before pushing it back onto the shelf.

She walked over the bridge that led to the other side of the chamber, then turned and descended some stairs. At the bottom was a door with a skeleton and a coinpurse next to. Elsebet picked up the coinpurse, put it in her pack, and pushed the door open.

She was greeted with another set of stairs leading down. At the bottom was a turn with more stairs, with vines too thick for her to properly see through, but she could tell that it was a massive cavern judging by the faint sound of a waterfall. She looked away from the vines and descended the stairs, silently cursing the ancient Nords that made the tomb so deep into the Earth. Seriously, she’d only seen one set of stairs that went _up_ , and they were only there so the people that visited the place could get to the stairs she was currently descending.

She took another turn and descended even more stairs before she shot a draugr in the back, sending him flying over the ledge that jutted out over a large natural cavern. She stepped up to it and marvelled at how big the cavern was. There was a waterfall on the left side, with a natural bridge leading over the lake and to a set of three stones. On the other side of the cavern was the normal Nordic flooring and such, but with a whole bunch of skeletons roaming around. She cursed. She hated skeletons more than draugr, even though she’d never fought them before. It would be hard to land an arrow on them, but she could just put the bones out of alignment and watch them crumble. She smirked to herself as she imagined all the skeletons down there falling apart while they desperately tried to put themselves back together.

Something caught her eye underneath the natural bridge. It was a familiar, curved wall with a dragon head carved at the top of it, though she couldn’t remember why it was familiar to her. Then it hit her, and she gasped. It was a Word Wall—Farengar had called it that when he asked how I learnt the shout—and it was identical to the one she’d found with Risorallen in Bleak Falls Barrow.

She let out a shaky breath. She didn’t really like the sensation she got the last time, and it got extremely loud before she’d absorbed the Word off the Wall. Honestly, she thought she’d never have to go through it again, but, obviously, she was wrong.

She let out another breath and turned on her heel, determined to get through the tomb so she could get the stupid horn the Greybeards wanted.

She turned again and stopped in her tracks. A couple steps in front of her were four pressure plates, most likely rigged to spurt fire on anyone that walked on them. She looked around for a rock she could use and found one nearby. It fit into the palm of her hand and was heavy, so it should be able to trigger the pressure plates.

She threw it on the pressure plates and, sure enough, they erupted in flames—well, two of them did. She narrowed her eyes as the jets of fire stopped, but the rock was on the back left one. Then she saw the pattern on each of the plates. The two on the right—the ones that had let out the flames—had a diamond in the middle with it coloured a dark colour, while the two on the left had diamond outlines in the middle, but the inside was the same colour as the rest of the pressure plate—and the tomb, it seemed.

She put a foot down on the first one on the left, tensing just in case she was wrong, but the jets of fire didn’t come up. The plate _did_ sink into the ground, just like the other two, but it didn’t let out any fire.

Elsebet let go of the breath she was holding and continued down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all on Sunday!


	13. I Have to Go Where!?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here is chapter 13! Honestly, I didn't think I'd get here. I usually drop fics at about chapter 3, so being this far is awesome!
> 
> I'm a fifth of the way through NaNoWriMo, though, so that's awesome! I've already got over 10k words, all for this! And I started about halfway through the last chapter, so you've got a lot more to go!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Elsebet shivered as she wiped off a bunch of spiderwebs she had walked into. She hated spiders, but she didn’t fear them. She found them creepy, especially the giant ones like the one in Bleak Falls Barrow. She vaguely wondered _how_ it had gotten there, but it left her mind as she walked onto a bridge.

The chamber was bigger than the one earlier, but not the one at the beginning of the tomb. It looked sort of like a dining room, with two long tables on a raised platform in the middle of the room and a throne on the back wall with a table in front of it on a higher platform. There was a draugr pacing between the two long tables on the lower platform, with another one—this one restless—on the bridge across the room with an axe in one hand and ice surrounding the other hand.

Crouching low, Elsebet pulled an arrow out of her quiver and knocked it, aiming for the draugr on the other bridge. She let the arrow fly, and it hit it square in the chest, sending him over the edge of the bridge and onto the floor, landing on the arrow so it poked through his back. She almost threw up as the draugr on the floor ran over to its dead companion, then turned around, waiting for an attack.

It got it, because it joined the other draugr on the floor with an arrow in its head.

Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she stood up and crossed the bridge, down a set a stairs, across the room, up another set of stairs, and across the bridge the first draugr had previously inhabited, then down _another_ set of stairs that led into an antechamber, much smaller than the chamber she had just left.

The antechamber was more like an extremely small cavern, seeing as how it was mostly naturally formed. There were two sarcophagi—one on each side of the room—and oil on the floor with a lamp above it, hanging off the roof. The passage forward was in front of her, and she was about to go to it, when she spotted a pull handle next to the sarcophagus on the other side of the room. She walked over to it and pulled it, and the sound of a metal gate opening came from her left, just as the two sarcophagi opened.

She nailed the draugr closest to her with an arrow before it could even move to get out of the sarcophagus. She turned around, her plait flying into her face, and shot the one of the other side of the room through the chest. She let out a breath and went to investigate what the pull handle opened up.

It had been an iron gate—two, actually, only the pull handle only opened one. On the other side was an actual antechamber, with a bookcase, a chest, and an enchanting table. The pull handle for the second gate was, thankfully, next to the gate. She pulled it and the second gate opened. Quickly sacking everything in the room—including a few enchanting weapons and armour she could sell for a good amount of gold—before leaving it and going through the tunnel on the other side of the room.

There was a staircase leading up to the right, with the tunnel extending to the left. She went up the staircase, looted a chest, and went down the tunnel. It sloped down sharply, before opening up to the massive cavern she had seen before, about halfway-down the wall. There was obviously a bridge that had fallen down, as there were several pillars leading to an opening in the wall on the other side of that half of the cavern.   
  
The skeletons she had spotted earlier were walking around the ground below her and at the bottom of where the broken bridge landed. She shot the three closest to her in quick succession, making the two on a balcony start shooting at her. She climbed down the fallen bridge and shot them, too, then whacked an approaching skeleton with her bow, making it fall apart as it flew away from her. She would’ve laughed if the skeleton sitting on the throne didn’t stand up and take out a sword from what looked like nowhere.

She dropped her bow and pulled out her sword as it ran at her, the ancient Nordic sword hoisted above its head as it charged. She raised her own sword above her head to deflect the skeleton’s sword. The loud _clank_ of the swords connecting echoed through the massive cavern. She lifted her foot and kicked the skeleton’s ribs out, but the skeleton flew with it, still connected together.

Elsebet swore as she saw it get up. The skeleton ran at her again, but she sidestepped at the last minute and swung the sword at its head. It flew off the rest of the skeleton, and it crumbled into a pile of bones.

She let out a few raspy breaths as she sheathed her sword and went over to where she dropped her bow. She picked it up, secured it to her back, and went down the natural ramp that would lead to where she saw the Word Wall.

She was tired, and it had felt like she’d been in the tomb for hours, though she didn’t know for sure. She didn’t have any way to tell the time miles underground, though she wished she did. It would be good for adventurers like her, who spent most of their time in tombs and crypts than in the sun.

She stopped in her tracks. _Adventurers like her?_ When had she started calling herself an adventurer? Sure, she had been through a ruin and was currently going through one, and she was helping the Jarl of Morthal, but that didn’t mean she was an adventurer, right? She couldn’t be. She wasn’t brave enough, and she didn’t know how to fight.

Though, for someone who claimed she didn’t know how to fight, she was doing a good job.

She shook her head and continued on.

The familiar chanting from the Word Wall in Bleak Falls Barrow filled the air as she approached her second one. The tug she had felt before filled her now, and instead of last time where she’d slowly walked towards it, she found herself running, stopping an arm’s length away from the carvings on the Wall.  
  
The carvings were different than the last one. For starters, the carving that was glowing was in a different place, and though she’d only looked at it for about a minute, the last one had something to do with an unrelenting force, while this one had elements of ethereal in it, nothing like the last one.

She reached out her arm and placed her hand on the glowing word, and the glow pounced off the Wall and surrounded her, just like last time. It circled her several times before entering her chest, but she was ready this time. She braced herself so she didn’t fly back like last time, and though she didn’t, she stumbled a little.  
  
As the chanting and the light died down, she was gasping for breath, leaning on her knees. She had done a lot better than last time, and she hoped she’d get used to it. She didn’t want to feel that every time she absorbed a Word.

When she caught her breath, Elsebet climbed back up the natural ramp and over the natural bridge that crossed over the Word Wall. She stopped near the end, hearing the rattling of a nearby skeleton. She groaned slightly. She hated skeletons.

She drew her bow and crept forward slightly, careful to keep her feet light. She knocked an arrow and aimed it for the skeleton on a balcony, looking out across the smallest part of the cavern. She let the arrow fly, and it imbedded into the wall next to the skeleton, completely missing it.

She cursed herself as it knocked its own arrow and fired at her.

She rolled out of the way of the arrow and shot another one of hers. It hit the skeleton as it shot another arrow, which Elsebet didn’t dodge in time. It hit her in the right shoulder as the skeleton crumbled into a pile of bones, a couple of them spilling over the ledge of the balcony and hitting the floor as the red haired Nord let out a scream.

Her hand flew up to her shoulder as the pain filled her, seeping out of shoulder and down her arm and chest slightly. She gripped on the shaft of the arrow and looked down at the other arrow the skeleton had shot to see if it was clawed. It was slightly, meaning it would do a lot of damage, so Elsebet grit her teeth and pushed on the arrow.

She let out screams as she pushed the arrow through her shoulder so she could take it out. It was something her brother, Jorten, had taught her—if the arrow is clawed, don’t rip it out. Push it through and snap the shaft in half. It will do a lot less damage than pulling it out. So that’s what she did. When she felt her blood pour down her back, she snapped the shaft in half and threw it on the floor. She pulled the other end of the arrow out and let it fall to the floor with a clatter.

She dug her left hand into her pack and pulled out one of the healing potions she’d found in the tomb. She uncorked the bottle with her teeth, spat it out onto the floor, and downed the sludge inside, suddenly glad that potions down go out of date. She gagged on the revolting taste of it, but forced herself to drink it all. She didn’t know how far she was in the tomb, or how long was left, so she’d need all of it. Besides, she had more health potions in her pack.

When she downed the potion, she placed it on the floor next to her and put her hand over the open wound. She had already lost a lot of blood, but her mother had studied restoration magic the most, and had taught all her children how to use a healing spell in case she wasn’t there when she was hurt. She had to admit, it was handy to have, especially if you’re in the middle of a tomb by yourself and you had just been shot with an arrow.

Honestly, she was surprised it had taken that long for her to get hurt, especially since she hadn’t earned any scratches from her fight with Mirmulnir, which she was extremely surprised about.

The warm glow filled her hand as she remembered how to use her healing spell. The light jumped from her hand and surrounded her shoulder, and a sharp pain filled her as she watched the wound close over. When there was nothing but a scar left, she stopped the spell, suddenly feeling extremely tired.

She tested her arm, slowly turning it in a circle. There was still a little bit of pain as it moved, but it would be manageable. Besides, she was ambidextrous, and she could shoot just as well with her left hand as she did with her right, though she’d trained more in her right hand than left, and because of that her aim wasn’t as good. Plus, she hadn’t even _tried_ picking up a sword in her left hand, so that would be extremely hard on her part if it came down to that.

She stood up, careful of her right arm, and looked at the three stones in front of her. There were two on her left side and one on her right side, making a line from her to the three closed gates on the other side of the stones, and they all had weird carvings on them. She took a couple steps forward, intending on finding the levers for the gates, when she passed in front of the first stone, which lit up red, and the first gate opened. She took a step back, and after a couple seconds the light turned off and the gate closed.

Her ever-falling mood fell drastically. She couldn’t make that in a run. Not with her shoulder, she couldn’t.

But then she remembered the second Shout the Greybeards had taught her— _Wuld_ , of the Whirlwind Sprint Shout. Just with that one, she wouldn’t be able to pass through the gates—the space between her and the gates was a lot bigger than between the stone pillars and the massive gate up on High Hrothgar. But, maybe…

Taking a few steps back, she launched herself into a sprint, the stones lighting up red and the gates opening. When she hit the last stone, she let out the Whirlwind Shout, and she rocketed forward and through the gates. She stumbled on the stairs at the end of them, and she heard the gates close behind her before opening again.

She let out a laugh. That was the most free she’d felt in ages, despite being in a tomb several miles underground. She just sat there, on the stairs, laughing for a couple minutes before it was all out of her system. Oblivion, she’d even forgotten about her shoulder.

Letting out a sigh, she pushed herself up and ascended the small staircase, but almost turned around and go back through the tomb because of the sight in front of her.

Massive spiderwebs coated the walls, roof, and floor, along with pressure plates that would most likely spurt out jets of fire, just like earlier in the tomb. Luckily, she couldn’t see any spiders, but she took her bow off her back and readjusted her quiver so she could fire with her left hand. She took an arrow out of her quiver and let it rest on the bow, carefully seeing the pattern on the pressure plates to see which ones were safe and which ones were not. After making her way through that small cavern and through a short tunnel, she found herself in a slightly larger cavern with spiders crawling everywhere.

Staying still on one of the safe pressure plates, she pulled the string of her bow back with her left hand and aimed for the biggest—and closest—of the four spiders. It hit the spider straight through the body, and the other spiders became alert as two bigger spiders descended from the ceiling. Elsebet stopped herself from shivering and fired two more arrows, killing two more of the spiders and aiming at another.

That’s when one of the spiders spotted her, and shot its venom at her.

She rolled out of the way and shot it twice, having to use two arrows to down it. She downed the other big spider, then shot the last spider—the smallest of them—with only one arrow.

She couldn’t stop the next shiver that racked her body as she made her way through the maze of safe and unsafe pressure plates and passed the bodies of the dead spiders. A solid mass of spiderwebs blocked her way forward, so she let her bow rest against a wall and drew her sword, which was extremely hard without using her right arm, and cut away the webs. After wiping the spiderwebs off her sword and onto a nearby corner, she sheathed the blade and picked up her bow, ready for anything.

She was not ready for anything.

When she got through the webs and started down a staircase, the ground started to rumble and stone monoliths rose out of the water on either side of the stone walkway. Her right hand went to her sword,k but she stopped when she winced at the sudden movement of her shoulder. The ground stopped rumbling, and Elsebet cautiously made her way to the extremely detailed sarcophagus on the other side of the chamber. On either side of the room next to the detailed sarcophagus were two more sarcophagi, these two looking like regular ones, with the draugr that were inside them dead on the ground.

The sarcophagus was taller than normal ones, with a hand reaching upwards that looked like it was supposed to hold something—like, you could say, a horn?—but instead of that normal something, there was a note. Curious, and somewhat baffled, Elsebet picked up the note and read it.

_Dragonborn,_

_I need to speak to you. Urgently._

_Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I’ll meet you._

_—A friend_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! Did you like this chapter? It's the longest one so far with almost three thousand words!
> 
> So far, I have seventeen chapters written, and that's awesome because that's the most I've ever written for _anything_.
> 
> I'll see you on Wednesday!


	14. Can't I Have One Minute of Peace?

As she trudged through the marshes towards Morthal, the sun dipping over the horizon, Elsebet was furious. She had wasted a _day_ going through Ustengrav, a day where she could have doing something productive. At least she got a whole lot of loot she could sell, and she’d wasted the whole day so she could go looking for the little ghost girl, Helgi.

As she got into town, a roar split the air, and she groaned as she pulled her bow off her back. Several Morthal guards around her started freaking out as a brown-skinned dragon flew over the town, letting out another ear-splitting roar from its open mouth. A name forced itself into her mind—Fulzaangro. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but she didn’t really care.

This was her second dragon and she was already sick of them.

Fulzaangro landed heavily on the top of the inn and opened up its maw.

“ _FO KRAH DIIN!_ ”

A torrent of ice come out of the dragon’s mouth, aimed for her. She jumped out of the way and ducked under the cover of the inn, missing the ice by inches.

“ _Zu’u fen krii hi, Dovahkiin!_ ”

She knocked an arrow as the dragon stopped its icy assault and ran out of the cover as Fulzaangro launched itself back into the air. She and the guards around her shot arrows at it as it flew around overhead, some of them sticking into the space between the scales. It roared again into the sky, and landed on the ground on the outskirts of Morthal.

Elsebet and four guards ran towards Fulzaangro, three of them shooting it with dragons while the two remaining guards charged him with their swords and shields. They ducked behind their shields as the dragon breathed more ice on the guards.

Elsebet put her bow on her back and pulled her sword out of its scabbard. The pain in her shoulder had dulled, and with the adrenaline of fighting a dragon, she couldn’t feel the stabbing pain. She charged for the dragon and slashed it across the snout. She jumped out of the way as it snapped at her, and she stabbed its cheek. The dragon roared in pain as blood oozed from the wound, and she did what Cyres did to Mirmulnir and climbed onto its head, using the Horn on its nose to hoist her up.

Fulzaangro started shaking his head, trying to get her off, but she held on to its Horn tight so she didn’t fall off. Her foot slid off, and the dragon tried to snap at it, but she accidentally kicked it in the nose and it convulsed under her.

She slashed the dragon’s face with her sword, and he let out a jet of ice at the guards on the ground. Keeping hold on one of the ridges above Fulzaangro’s eyes, she stabbed the sword into the top of its skull, leaning on it as much as she could while still holding on, and it went through its head to the hilt.

She took her sword out and jumped off as the dragon went limp, dropping the sword before she hit the ground in a roll. She stayed in a crouch as the dragon’s skin started disappearing, and slowly stood up as it collected in a white light above the dragon before rushing over to her, circling around her before sinking into her chest, blowing her hair around her as the foot she placed behind her kept her standing.

As the light and wind stopped, she looked around her to see one of the guards dropping their sword as their grip went slack. A Word made itself appear behind her eyes, staying just long enough for her to know what it meant.

_Feim_. Fade.

She took in a deep breath. The sun had almost completely set, so there wasn’t much time until she had to go find Helgi.

“So, it’s true,” one of the nearby guards muttered in wonder. “The Dragonborn has come.”

Elsebet picked up her sword laying on the ground near her and turned around, walking towards theburned down house, trying to ignore the stares everyone was giving her. She needed to find the little ghost girl and see what in oblivion was wrong with Morthal.

After a bit of searching, with the moons rising into the sky, she found a graveyard with a coffin sticking half in the ground, having just been dug up by a woman that was currently trying to open said coffin. The woman heard Elsebet approaching and stood up quickly, a spell appearing in her hand as she unsheathed her dagger.

Panicking slightly, Elsebet drew her own sword and swung at the approaching woman. She dodged to attack and sent the spell towards her, and she felt her life-force draining from her.

_She’s a vampire_ , Elsebet thought as she swung again, trying to get out of the way of the woman’s drain health spell. It seemed like vampires were the only ones that used those spells. She didn’t know why, but she knew she didn’t want to be a vampire.

The vampire came into striking distance and she swung the sword again, cutting the front of the robes she wore. The vampire cursed but didn’t get to do anything else as Elsebet ran her through with her sword.

She had to say, less than two days’ worth of training with a sword has done wonders for her.

She sheathed the sword and walked over to the unburied coffin. She touched the wood, and Helgi’s voice filled the air around her.

“ _You found me!_ ” Helgi said. “ _Laelette was trying to find me too, but I’m glad you found me first._ ” Her voice turned somber. “ _Laelette was told to but mommy and me, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to play with me forever and ever. She kissed me on the neck, and it got so cold the fire didn’t even hurt._ ” Elsebet covered her mouth in horror. The vampire currently lying at her feet had wanted to turn Helgi into a vampire? That was as messed up as having to burn down a house with a mother and daughter inside. “ _Laelette thought she could take me and keep me, but she can’t. I’m all burnt up. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep for a while now._ ”

Elsebet looked up as Helgi stopped talking and a man ran up to her with a torch in his hand and a worried look on his face.

“Laelette!” He stopped at Laelette’s body. “She’s dead!” He turned on Elsebet. “What did you do?”

Elsebet put her hands up in surrender. “Woah, buddy, I didn’t do anything. She attacked me, _and_ she’s a vampire.”

_Did I just say_ ‘Woah, buddy’ _?_

She shook her head slightly as the man looked back down at Laelette’s body. “My poor Laelette.”

“What can you tell me about her?” At the man’s confused glance, she continued. “I’m trying to find out what happened to her and Helgi.”

“Laelette?” The man asked, before shaking his head and turning his body to her. “I thought she left to join the Stormcloaks.”

“Did you notice anything strange about her before she left?”

He thought for a moment. “She began spending a lot of time around Alva. Yet just a week before, she despised her. In fact, the night she disappeared, she was supposed to meet Alva.” He sighed. “Alva told me later that she never showed up. I never got to tell her goodbye.”

“I think they may have met after all.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You think Alva… but that means…” He gasped theatrically, his eyes widening. “Ye gods! You think Alva’s a vampire?”

“It’s a possibility we can’t ignore.”

He shook his head. “No! You’re wrong. You must be wrong. Laelette may have met her fate out in the marsh.” He shook his head again, turning away from her slightly. “I refuse to believe Alva had anything to do with this. There is no way you can prove it to the Jarl.” He then walked away from her, not letting her say anything.

Elsebet pondered her decisions. She could go to the Jarl with the information she’d found and have her not believe the younger Nord, or she could break into Alva’s house and get proof that she’s behind everything. Only one problem; she didn’t know where Alva lived.

Either way, she needed sleep. She’d only gotten a couple hours sleep on the carriage ride, she’d gone through a dusty old tomb all day, and then had fought a dragon, then a vampire. Sure, the dragon’s soul had given her a small boost, but it had quickly left as the vampire drained her health.

Stretching her back to get rid of some tension, she started down the path that lead to the small grave and entered the inn. There was still only Jonna and the orc bard inside, but she didn’t really care. In the morning, she was going to investigate Alva’s house, get her shoulder looked at properly at an apothecary’s, then maybe get some fresh clothes from the only shop in town. She hadn’t changed out of her armour since she, Risorallen, and Lydia left Whiterun for Ivarstead. She couldn’t even remember if she’d even _packed_ some extra clothes.

She took her room key out of her pocket and unlocked the door she stood in front of. She closed the door behind her and locked it, placing the key and her pack onto the table next to the bed. She took her bow and quiver off her back and carefully rested them against the cupboard, along with her sword and the belt it was connected to. Almost collapsing on her bed, Elsebet pulled her pack towards her and opened it up.

It was almost full, she noted, as she took all the enchanted weapons she’d taken from Ustengrav and placed them in two piles—the ones she’d sell and the ones she’d keep. As she dug through the bag, she saw she had a lot of loose coins and gems, as well as a few pieces of enchanted or valuable armour. And, near the bottom of the pack, was a nightgown she’d packed the Fredas before. She sighed gratefully, then started peeling her armour off.

She stopped after taking both her bracers off. She needed a bath, and she would not walk around in her nightgown. Sighing, she put the bracers back on, and bundled up her nightgown under her arm and left the room, key in hand so she could lock the door after her. She put the key in her pocket and approached Jonna who, despite the time, was still wide awake.

“Do you have any baths?” She asked.

The Redguard woman smiled at her. “We do, down in the basement. Follow me.” When she saw in dismissal. “It’s on the house. For killing that dragon before it killed all of us.”

She smiled sheepishly as she followed Jonna down the stairs and into the bathhouse. Steam filled the air as the two women walked down the hall and into one of the rooms. A bath was sitting in the middle of the room, with steam coming off the hot water inside it.

“It’s just been drawn,” Jonna said. “Take as long as you want.”

Elsebet smiled at her. “Thank you. I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fulzaangro isn't a dragon in-game. I'm going to name all the dragons Elsebet fights, and this one was just a regular dragon.
> 
> See you next time!


	15. Cowards, the Lot of 'Em

The next day, feeling more refreshed than she had in a week, Elsebet asked for the location of Alva’s house and found herself crouching in front of the door, one of her lockpicks in the lock. She was back in her hide armour, and had finally gotten a good night’s sleep since she wasn’t in her armour.

The lock clicked, and Elsebet turned the door handle. She quickly entered the house and closed the door after her. The room she was in was small, like the actual house, and was empty, thank the gods. She didn’t know what she would’ve done if Hroggar or Alva were home. She didn’t want to think about it.

In front of her were a set of steps that lead down to a cellar, though she didn’t know why a house as small as this would have one. She just shook her head and descended the stairs, closer to the walls so they wouldn’t creak.

The cellar door was locked, which was usually good cause for worry. No one locked a door inside their house unless they _really_ didn’t want whatever was inside to be found out. Luckily for Elsebet, her father had been an excellent lockpick, and taught her everything she knew. About half a second later, the door was swinging open.

In the middle of the room was an empty coffin. Well, mostly empty, Elsebet saw as she approached it. In the middle of the coffin was a red leather-bound journal. She picked it up and opened it, and when she saw the front page reading _PROPERTY OF ALVA_ , she skimmed through it.

When she saw what was in it, she quickly shoved the journal into her pack and left the house. Running a hand through her red hair, Elsebet jogged over to the Jarl’s Longhouse, ready to give the Jarl proof that Alva was, indeed, a vampire.

Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone was lounging on her throne, much like she had the day before when Elsebet had found her, with her fingers rapping against the wooden arm of the chair, obviously agitated. When she saw Elsebet enter the hall, she perked up, and waited for her to approach and bow.

“So? Is Hroggar innocent or not?”

“Jarl Idgrod, Alva set the fire. She’s the murderer.”

Jarl Idgrod blinked for a second. “Alva? Didn’t think she had it in her.”

“Actually,” Elsebet drawled, trying to fight the smile on her face, “she’s a vampire. She planned to enslave the town.”

“I assume you have proof? Can’t go around making accusations like that without proof.”

Elsebet took Alva’s journal out of her pack. “I have her journal. It has everything in there.”

She handed it to the Jarl, who read it and slammed it shut. She pushed it at her steward and stood up angrily. “So it’s true. Traitorous bitch! Morthal owes you a debt.” She clicked her fingers, and the steward handed her a hefty coinpurse as she sat back down on her throne. “There’s five hundred gold in there. You were promised a reward for solving the crime, but I have one more favour to ask of you. Morthal is still in danger. The journal mentions Movarth, a master vampire I thought was destroyed a century ago.”

Movarth. Why did that name sound familiar? “I’ll gather together some able-bodied warriors to clean out Movarth’s lair. They’ll be outside ready for you in ten minutes. You killed that dragon yesterday. This should be easy for you.”

Elsebet didn’t tell her that just because she’d killed a dragon doesn’t mean she’ll be able to kill a master vampire. She instead bowed slightly at the Jarl. “I’ll be there.”

She turned on her heel and marched out of the Longhouse, followed by the steward.

As promised, ten minutes later, there were five people outside the Longhouse, including the man that told Elsebet there was no way Alva could be a vampire. He was standing at the front of the group, actually. Jonna had told her his name was Thonnir. The only other face she recognised was the orc bard from the Moorside Inn, Lurbuk. She had heard him play about half an hour before, and he was possibly the worst bard in Skyrim. He even thought he was the best, everyone else just had terrible taste.

“Take us to Movarth’s lair!” Thonnir shouted.

She was lucky the steward had told her where it was, or she would’ve told him to do it himself.Instead, she trudged east, where the steward said it was. When she finally stood outside the cave, she took her bow off her back and went to enter, but Lurbuk stayed muttered something.

“I don’t know about this…” He said.

Elsebet turned to him. “Excuse me?”

He shook his head, sheathing his axe. “If you want to die at the hands of a master vampire, I’m not stopping you. But I’m _not_ going in there.”

He then turned around and ran away, back to Morthal. After about a minute, the rest decided to run, too, except Thonnir.

Elsebet turned to him. “Are you coming with or am I going in there alone?” She was more annoyed than scared. This wasn’t her town, yet she was the one saving it. She stopped herself from scoffing and waited for Thonnir’s reply.

“They may be cowards,” he said, “but I’m not. I’ll go with you.”

She smirked slightly at him. “You’re a brave man. Let’s go.”

With that, she turned on her heel and trudged into Movarth’s Lair, Thonnir on her tail.

The two of them walked through a small tunnel before emerging at the top of a tall cavern, wooden platforms leading from where they were to the ground, where the tunnel continued. At the bottom were two frostbite spiders, and Elsebet shivered as she knocked an arrow and aimed at the closest one.

The arrow hit the spider with a _squelch_ , causing the second, and bigger, one to become alert, pincers up and ready to strike. Elsebet shot another arrow, killing the second one.

“You’re pretty good with that bow,” Thonnir said as they made their way down the wooden ramp.

She smiled at him. “Thanks.”

They went through the second tunnel, Thonnir with his axe dangling in hand, ready to be used, and found themselves in a big cavern, though not as big as any of the caverns in Ustengrav. Elsebet shot a vampire’s thrall that was sitting in a chair as lookout. She slumped down to the side, dead, with an arrow buried in her heart. Elsebet and Thonnir entered the tunnel next to where she was lying, both of them trying not to look at the body.

This tunnel was shorter than the last one, and let into a smaller cavern with tables scattered around the place with dead people lying on them. Elsebet pulled an arrow out of her quiver and let it rest on her bow.

A vampire’s thrall came up from a hole in the ground with a small coinpurse in his hand. Elsebet aimed for him and fired. The arrow stuck out of his abdomen, and he fell to the floor, screaming in pain. An arrow to his throat silenced him, but it was too late. The rest of the vampires in the cave must have heard his screams.

Elsebet cursed and knocked another arrow, waiting for the vampires to come. She tried to steady her breathing, but with her heart pounding in her chest, her breath was shaking as she tried not to hyperventilate.

The first vampire came through the tunnel on the other side of the small cavern, but didn’t get far before she fell to the ground dead. Elsebet quickly knocked another arrow, and pulled back on the string just as the next vampire came through. Then another vampire came through and he, too, fell with an arrow in his throat. A vampire had been behind him, and she didn’t have enough time to draw another arrow or draw her sword, so she whacked him with her bow when he got in range.

He fell to the side, Elsebet’s bow broken in her grip.

She dropped it to the side, careful to remember where it landed, and drew her sword. She ran the vampire that broke her bow through the chest as he stood up, and he fell again as his blood coated her blade.

Her blade flew up and blocked another vampire’s sword from cutting her in two. She kicked her in the ribs and slashed at his chest as she stumbled backwards. Blood poured out of the deep gash, and she fell to the ground as she slowly died of blood loss.

An arrow came flying passed her, and her eyes met the vampire’s thrall’s eyes as knocked another arrow. She turned to Thonnir, who was fighting against two vampires at once, and stabbed the closest one as he killed the other one.

“Cover for me! I need to get that bow!” She pointed to the vampire’s thrall, and he nodded in understanding.

She ran towards the archer, rolling out of the way of an arrow and skidding underneath a vampire that swung at her, cutting off his arm in the process. She got to her feet and dodged another arrow. She ran a vampire through, pushed her off her blade with her foot, and slashed at the archer’s knee, dropping the sword in the process.

She grabbed the bow from his loosened hand as he collapsed, having just lost a kneecap, pulling an arrow out of her quiver and aiming it at his face. She closed her eyes as she let the arrow fly, but she would never forget the sound that came out of his head when the two connected.

Swallowing some bile, she turned around and shot at the vampire she had cut the arm off of, the arrow spearing him in the neck. She knocked another arrow, but it was useless as there were no more vampires in the cavern.

Breathing heavily, Thonnir looked at Elsebet. “Think Movarth was in that lot?”

The redheaded Nord shook her head. “I don’t know. We’ll have to check the whole cave.”

Thonnir nodded. Elsebet put her new wooden bow on her back, picked up her sword and sheathed it, and went over to where she dropped her broken elven bow and put it in her pack. She’d have to get it fixed by someone. It was the best—and only—bow she’d ever had, and it had belonged to her brother. She wasn’t just going to ditch it in some cave.

The two made their way through the tunnel all the vampires had come through and found themselves in a massive cavern with a long wooden table in the middle of it with human flesh, hearts and blood scattered over it. At the head of the table was a man and a woman, obviously waiting for them.

“Alva,” Thonnir whispered.

_So that’s Alva_ , Elsebet mused, looking at the black-haired Nord vampire. She grinned coldly at them, showing them her elongated teeth. The man next to her must have be Movarth.

“You decimated my clan and interrupted my plans,” Movarth said, standing up from his seat. “Now you will pay.”

Alva charged at them, drain health spell in one hand and an elven dagger in the other. Thonnir went to meet her, and the two parried blows as Elsebet pulled her bow off her back and looked over at Movarth, who had started casually walking over to her. She knocked an arrow and fired, but he jumped out of the way, then ran at her.

His hand grabbed her neck and retched her off the ground. She dropped her bow and clawed at his hand, trying desperately to get him to let go of her. Her thu’um climbed up her throat, the Shout burning at the back of her eyes, but she couldn’t get the breath she needed to use it.

“My, my,” Movarth drawled. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing?”

Her chest started hurting from the lack of oxygen, burning from the inability to breathe. Movarth chuckled under his breath as he studied her, something playing through his mind.

“It would be a shame to kill you. You’re an excellent warrior.”

He dropped her, and she collapsed on the ground, gasping for air. He crouched down in front of her as Alva knocked Thonnir’s axe out of his hand. Elsebet coughed as Movarth stared down at her, deciding what to do with her.

That was his mistake.

Her eyes flew to his, her thu’um burning her throat finally able to be used. She grabbed the bow beside her, stood up quickly, braced her foot behind her, and shouted.

“ _FUS RO!_ ”

The force flowed through her veins and left her forcefully, hitting Movarth head-on and sending him skidding across the ground. Elsebet knocked an arrow and shot it at the vampire as he stood up, hitting his shoulder. He was forced to the ground again, but didn’t stay down long.

He went to his knees and pulled the arrow out of his shoulder, grunting as the arrow went skittering across the room. Another arrow _thunked_ into the same shoulder, then another in the other one. 

Elsebet reached out behind her and grabbed an arrow out of the quiver, placed it on the string of the bow, pulled back, aimed and, on her exhale, let the arrow go.

Time seemed to slow down as the air sailed through the air, with even Alva looking over as it neared her master. It struck true, hitting his jugular, and the sound of him choking on his own blood sounded throughout the cavern.

Alva let out a cry and charged for her. Elsebet reached for an arrow, only to realise that she had just used her last one. Cursing the gods, she threw the bow down onto the ground and unsheathed her sword as Alva neared and raised her dagger to strike.

The dagger came down, but Elsebet side-stepped and forced her sword through her back as Alva sailed passed. Her momentum carried, and she flew off the sword and fell to the ground.

By some miracle, the sword had missed her heart. As Alva lay on the ground, blood pooling around her, blood trickling from her mouth, Elsebet turned her back to the dying vampire and grinned at Thonnir.

He grinned back at her, blood running down the side of his face from a cut on his forehead. His eyes widened, and he started running towards her. 

“Look out!”

She looked at him in confusion. Then a sharp pain erupted in her side, and she looked down to see an elven dagger protruding hilt-deep in her side. Alva was lying dead next to her, her arm outstretched next to her, and a grin on her face.

The pain grew to an immeasurable amount, and she fell to the floor.

The last thing she saw was Thonnir running up to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Please don't hate me


	16. But I Don't Want to Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am with another chapter. Please don't hate me from the last one, it was something I had to do.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Risorallen paced up and down the length of Jorrvaskr, his brothers watching him as he worried about his friend. Lydia was leaning against a nearby support beam that held up the alcove roof.

“I’m sure she’s fine, Brother,” Zedronymus said. “She’s got a good head on those shoulders.”

“It’s been four days,” Risorallen said. “Something is wrong.”

Lydia shook her head. “I’m sure she’s just got sidetracked. Maybe started helping Morthal with some of its problems. She seems the sort of person to do it.”

Footsteps sounded, and a courier rounded the side of Jorrvaskr, his hat flapping in the wind. He skidded to a stop in front of the group. “I’ve got a letter here for a Risorallen Belinius,” he said, digging a hand into the pack he used for letters and packages.

Risorallen stopped his pacing and almost ran to him. “I’m him; what is it?”

The courier drew a letter out of the pack and handed it to him. “It came from a Thonnir in Morthal, something about a mutual friend.”

Risorallen almost tore open the envelope as the courier took his leave, then scanned over the letter, eyes wide. He read over it again and thrust it to Lydia, eyes screwed shut as he took a ragged breath.

“Read it out,” Cyres said from where he sat at a table.

“ _Risorallen,_

“ _You don’t know me, and I certainly don’t know you, but a friend that has just saved Morthal knows you, and wanted me to get you._

“ _Elsebet got badly wounded as she cleared out a vampire lair, and she’s been passed out for two days, only waking up once this morning to tell me to send for you. She cares for you a great deal if in her only moment of consciousness she wanted you._

“ _I hope you are able to get here as fast as you can. When you get to Morthal, head into the Highmoon Hall, the Jarl’s Longhouse. She has been healing there, being mended to by the Jarl’s Court Wizard._

_“—Thonnir_.”

Lydia lowered the letter, her eyes wide as she stared at her companions—one of them being an actual Companion. Risorallen had his hands balled into fists, and he started stomping away.

“Where are you going?” Zedronymus asked his youngest brother.

“Morthal, obviously,” he shouted, turning around and started walking backwards. He turned around again. “You’re welcome to join me!”

Lydia looked between the two eldest brothers in the family, and Cyres shook his head. “I can’t. I don’t have any more leave days.”

Zedronymus looked away from his retreating brother and towards the housecarl. “Me, either. There’s a new whelp, and Vilkas wants me to help train her.”

“Right, Njada,” Cyres said, patting his older brother on the shoulder. “Good luck. Girl’s a piece of work, she is.” At Lydia’s confused expression, he elaborated. “She’s from Solitude, recently moved here and became a guard. Got kicked out because her methods were too extreme, and was pointed here.”

Lydia nodded, then went to follow her Thane’s friend to the stables, then further to Morthal.

* * *

 

When Elsebet woke up, she didn’t know where she was. The ceiling above her was wood plated, and the bed she laid on was softer than her one at home. Then the last couple weeks came back to her, and she almost groaned.

So much had happened in a short amount of time. Dragons came back, she’d killed two of them, and she had become an adventurer.

She rolled her head to the side, then screamed when she saw Thonnir sleeping on a chair next to the bed, head lolled onto his chest. He started awake, blinking at the harsh light, before looking at the Nord woman lying on the bed.

“You’re awake!” He said, suddenly becoming alert.

She went to sit up, but pain laced up and down her right side, and she hissed, her hand flying to her side. She threw her covers off and started down at her side, then blinked, not wanting to believe what she was seeing. Her midsection was covered in linen, wrapped tightly and securely so they didn’t become loose as she moved, and there was a red blotch on her side just above her hip—whatever had happened to her had happened there, that much she knew.

“Alva stabbed you with her dagger,” Thonnir exclaimed as Elsebet took her hand off her side and looked at him. “Had to carry you here from the cave while making sure you didn’t bleed out.”

She blinked at him, then gave him a small smile. “Thanks.”

The door to the room she was in slammed open, showing Risorallen and Lydia, both looking a little dishevelled from what was obviously a long journey. Risorallen’s face lit up with joy when he saw Elsebet was conscious and sitting up.

“Elsebet!”

She grinned at him. “Hey, Riz.”

The grin left his face, and he looked slightly annoyed, but didn’t comment on it. He and Lydia came into the room, then, and Risorallen took Thonnir’s seat, who had stood up for him.

“Are you okay?” The Imperial asked her, genuinely curious of the state of his friend.

“I’m fine. Besides,” she added as an afterthought, “if a couple dragon can’t kill me, a silly little dagger won’t be able to.”

Risorallen’s face fell. “You fought another dragon?” Elsebet nodded. “Without me? I thought we were dragon slaying buddies!”

Elsebet let out a laugh as the Jarl came into the room. Lydia and Risorallen stood at attention and bowed to her, but Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone just waved them off.

“How are you feeling?” She asked Elsebet.

She half-smirked. “Better now that I know the Jarl of Morthal cares about me.”

Jarl Idgrod chuckled slightly, then let out a breath. “Well, you saved my town. That merits a kind of caring, doesn’t it?”

It was Elsebet’s turn to chuckle.

“Now, as to why I’m here,” the Jarl said. “You did a wonderful job killing the master vampire Movarth, and defeating the dragon that’s skeleton now decorates our street.”

“Movarth?” Lydia asked. “Isn’t that the vampire hunter in the book _Immortal Blood_?”

_So that’s why the name sounded familiar!_ Elsebet thought. It wasn’t like she couldn’t forget the book—she’d read it only a couple hours before the dragons returned. Oblivion, she still had the book in her pack. Well, she hoped she did. It was property of the College of Winterhold, and had actually planned on returning it the next time she was in Winterhold.

The Jarl nodded. “The exact same.” She turned back to the wounded Nord sitting on the bed. “There is room in my court for a new Thane. I would be honoured if you took up that role, Dragonborn.”

Elsebet’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. Thane? She was already Thane of Whiterun. What would being Thane of two holds entail? Could she switch between the two? Did she have to choose? More importantly, did she have to attend all those boring meetings they had all the time?

“Of course, Lydia has already told me you’re a Thane of Whiterun. It doesn’t matter—someone like you deserves to hold a position in power. Now, I know you need to get to High Hrothgar, so I can give you a personal escort to Ivarstead.”

Elsebet shook her head. “No, thanks. I need to go to Riverwood, first, and I’ll feel bad to take more than I deserve.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Why do you need to go to Riverwood?”

“The Horn wasn’t there,” she said, anger swelling inside her. “Some bastard got there first, and decided to leave a note.”

She reached for her pack, which was on a nearby table, and Thonnir grabbed it and gave it to her. She smiled in thanks and dug through it, looking for the stupid letter that had made her life increasingly hard. She found, and held it out to Lydia.  


She read it, swore, and passed it to Risorallen, who also swore when he read it.

“Let’s get going,” Elsebet said, going to stand up.

Thonnir pushed her back down on the bed. “You need rest. You were badly wounded.”

“It’s a little dagger wound, I’ll be fine.”

“It went in hilt-deep,” Thonnir deadpanned. “You will not be fine.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just going to Riverwood. I’m not going to do any fighting.”

“And yet you came to Morthal to go to Ustengrav, and ended up saving the town from vampires,” Risorallen said, rolling his own eyes.

She smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “Things happen. I was curious.”

Lydia sighed. “You need to rest. You’ve been out for four days, and were only conscious enough during the second day to send for us. You’re not fine, and you don’t need to be all the time. You’re not immortal.”

“This conversation does not deter me from naming you Thane, Elsebet,” Jarl Idgrod—whom Elsebet had, frankly, forgotten was there—said. “We will wait until you have healed, and then I will make you Thane.”

Elsebet sighed. She wasn’t getting out of that one. “Of course, Jarl Idgrod.”

* * *

 

Elsebet spent two days lying in the bed, bored out of her mind. She needed to get to Riverwood and confront the person that took the Horn before she got there, but there she was, having forced bedrest by five people.

The Court Wizard, an Altmer woman that had introduced herself as Camre Camus, was redressing Elsebet’s wounds. She finished wrapping the linen around her body and leant back in her chair.

“You should be able to move around more,” she said. “You’ll be able to go to Riverwood tomorrow morning.”

She let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank the gods.”

Camre chuckled slightly. “I’ll go tell your companions. They were really worried about you. You’re in good company.”

Elsebet smiled to herself. She had prided herself in having good judgement, and she knew Risorallen and Lydia were good people.

“I’ll tell the Jarl, as well. She’ll want to make you Thane, soon.” Camre stood up. “You’re doing a lot of good, you know? I’m glad that out of everyone alive, you’re the Dragonborn.”

“Thank you, Camre.”

Camre left the room, and the smile on Elsebet’s face widened into a grin.


	17. Back to Riverwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the chapter titles are slowly becoming real ones, not funny ones. This is a real one. Do you prefer this or not?

Just as Camre had said, Elsebet was able to travel the morning after. It was also officially the second day of autumn, and she’d cursed herself for letting herself get stabbed.

She did get a new dagger, though, so that was a plus. Thonnir had kept the dagger in her side until he had gotten her into town, and it was because of that that she was still alive. The blood had clotted, and didn’t have any room to spill out, so the dagger had sort of acted like a bandage of sorts. Camre had then given it to her as the trio left Morthal, and it was currently banging on her right thigh as the horse trotted underneath her, her arms wrapped around Lydia’s torso.

She also wasn’t allowed to wear armour, so she was dressed in a tunic and a pair of trousers Lydia had leant her, and her crimson cloak they had fixed for her.

They had stopped off at Whiterun for about an hour, so Elsebet could get a bit of rest and get her bow fixed. Adrianne Avenicci, the blacksmith of Warmaiden’s had said she could fix it, but it would take a couple days, maybe a week to do so. The three of them had decided they would get the Horn, go to High Hrothgar, then come back to Whiterun to pick up the bow. So, she just used the wooden one she’d taken off the vampire in Movarth’s lair.

They were nearing Riverwood as the sun set over the horizon. It was perfect, because they would be able to sleep before they set out for Ivarstead. They dismounted the horses—Elsebet with the help of Lydia—and tied them against the fence around the Sleeping Giant Inn. They entered the inn, and Elsebet was suddenly thrown back to when she entered the inn for the first time and saw Risorallen drinking a cup of mead.

The inn was warm, just like it was last time, and it was set up similarly to the one in Morthal, with the open floor, the fire-pit in the middle, and the three rooms. A blonde woman about mid-fifties walked over to them, wearing a blue dress with a tray in her hand, full of ale and mead for the numerous customers that inhabited the place.

She set the tray down on the table next to them and placed the tankards in front of a group of men. She then turned to them, the tray under her arm. “How can I help you three?"

“We’d like to rent the attic room,” Elsebet said, taking her cloak off. It was too warm in there for her to wear it, so she quickly folded it up and put it in her pack as the woman raised an eyebrow. 

“Attic room, eh?” She asked, a little suspicious. “Well, we don’t _have_ an attic room, but you can have the one on the right,” she said, taking a key off her belt and handing it to her. “It’s the biggest one, and all three of you will be able to sleep in there. I’ll get Orgnar to get a cot for you. If you need anything, the name’s Delphine.”

She walked away as Elsebet went for her coinpurse, a little curious that she didn’t ask for any gold. She held the key in her hand as the three of them made their way through the inn and to the only room on the right.

The room was large, there was no doubting that. There were two beds, one against the wall with a chest at the end, the other against the wall connected to a door. There was a wardrobe in the corner, with a table taking up the rest of the wall with food and wine on it.

A Nord man came into the room with a cot, then set it up next to one of the beds. He nodded at them, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Well, there goes our plan,” Risorallen said, collapsing on the bed next to the table. “How’re we going to contact the person that took the Horn now?”

Lydia opened her mouth to speak as the door opened and Delphine, the woman from before, entered the room quickly, before closing the door and locking it. She took a deep breath then turned to face them, her hands on her hips.

“Okay, which one of you is the Dragonborn?” She asked.

“Why?” Elsebet asked.

Delphine rolled her eyes before heading to the chest and opening it. She rummaged around in it and then drew something from it. She stood up, closed the chest lid, and held it out. “Because I need to know who to give this to.”

The three of them stared at the object in her hands. It was a war Horn, as long as Delphine’s arm, with an inscription on the side in glyphs that looked like the Daedric language, like those that were on the coffin in Ustengrav.

Elsebet snatched the Horn from her. “Do you know how long it took me to get through that fucking tomb?”

“So, you’re the one everyone’s talking about,” Delphine said, calm even though there was a furious Dragonborn in front of her that was fully prepared to Shout her to Oblivion. “I knew the Greybeards would send you to Ustengrav at one point or another.”

“Why didn’t you just come and talk to me?” She asked.

“Because you could’ve been lying. You could still be lying, but I have to trust you.” Delphine walked over to the wardrobe and opened it up, then pressed a button on the side and the back slid back to reveal a set of stairs leading down. She turned back to the trio. “We can talk more privately down here.”

She didn’t wait for them and descended the stairs. The three looked at each other before making their way down as well, the secret panel closing behind them.

The room was small, with a lower roof than upstairs, the walls, floor, and ceiling made of stone. There was a table in the middle with a map and a book on top of it. To the left was a small table and a chest pushed against the wall. To the right was an enchanting table pushed into the wall, with two weapon racks hanging off the wall with various weapons on it, including a curved sword she had never seen before, made of some kind of metal. There were arrows leaning against the wall, reminding her that she needed more arrows. On the far wall was a bookcase full of alchemical ingredients, an alchemy table in the corner, and a barrel next to the bookcase.

Delphine rounded the table and stopped in front of the map. “Like I said in my note, I’ve heard that you might be Dragonborn. I’m part of a group that’s been looking for you… well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you.”

“Why are you looking for a Dragonborn?” Risorallen asked.

“We remember what most don’t—that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragonslayer.” She turned her gaze to Elsebet. “You’re the only one that can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul. Can you do it? Can you devour a dragon’s soul?”

Elsebet nodded. “That’s how I found out about it in the first place.”

She nodded. “Good. And you’ll have a chance to prove it to me soon enough.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What’s the part you’re not telling us?”

Delphine smirked. “You’re smart, I’ll give you that. But dragons aren’t just coming back—they’re coming back to _life_. They weren’t gone somewhere all these years. They were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now something’s bringing them back to life. And I need you to help me stop it.”

“Do you know how crazy all of this sounds?” Lydia asked.

Delphine chuckled. “A few years ago, I said almost the same thing to a colleague of mine. Well, it turned out he was right and I was wrong.”

“What makes you think dragons are coming back to life?” Risorallen asked, meaning against the wall.

“I know they are. I’ve visited their ancient burial mounds and found them empty. And I figured out where the next one will come back to life. We’re going to go there, and you’re going to kill that dragon. If we succeed, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Elsebet didn’t really like people telling her what to do, but she figured she had to go so she could find out the extent of the dragon threat. Besides, she was curious about _how_ they’re coming back to life. They couldn’t be doing it on their own, otherwise they would’ve done it centuries ago. No, they had to have something—or some _one_ —bringing them back. She wondered if an extremely powerful necromancer would be able to do it.

She nodded. “Okay. But, I have to go to High Hrothgar first. Where are we headed?”

Delphine pointed to a spot on the map somewhere in Eastmarch. “Kynesgrove. There’s an ancient dragon burial mound there. If we can get there before it happens, maybe we’ll learn how to stop it.”

“We’ll meet you there, then,” Elsebet said, and the three made their way back to their room, followed by Delphine.

Elsebet told her two companions that she needed to go do something, and they nodded as she pulled her cloak out of her bag. She left the inn, her cloak billowing around her, and headed towards Alvor’s house.

He was still attending to the forge, like most blacksmiths do at this time. He didn’t even see her until she was walking up the steps and called his name.

He looked up from the sword he was smithing and looked at her. A smile appeared on his face and he dropped the sword in the water next to the forge, wiped his hands on his apron, and made his way to her, wrapping her up in a big hug.

“Nice to see you, too, Alvor,” she said as the two stepped away from each other.

“What are you doing here? How was Whiterun? It’s been a couple weeks.”

She smiled. “Whiterun was good, and I know it’s been a couple weeks, but I’ve been busy.” Honestly, the thought of returning to Riverwood didn’t cross her mind, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “I’m actually here on business. I’m staying at the inn.”

Alvor waved his hand. “Nonsense. You can stay at mine again.”

“I’m not alone, Alvor,” she said. “I have two people with me.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to be a bother. Anyway, I need a favour to ask.”

“Name it.”

“I need arrows. Do you have any?”

He nodded. “I have several dozen.”

“Great. I’ll need all of them.”

Alvor blinked at her. “All of them?”

“That’s what I said.”

He shook his head and chuckled. “Sure, kid. Can I ask why you need them?”

“I need to kill a dragon.”

“Only the Dragonborn can kill dragons and he’s not here. What makes you think you can do it?”

She raised an eyebrow. Didn’t anyone know that the Dragonborn was a woman? “Excuse me?”

He waved his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How’d you mean it, then?”

“My Thane!”

Elsebet looked over her shoulder to see Lydia jogging towards them. She stopped next to her and looked at her. “Yes, Lydia?”

“Risorallen suggested going to High Hrothgar now. We’d get a lot more ground covered in less time, and we’ll be able to get to Kynesgrove quicker.”

“What about sleep?"

Lydia shook her head. “We’ll be camping at about midnight. Risorallen’s getting all the camping stuff now.”

“Sounds good. I’ll just get the arrows and sell a couple stuff, and I’ll meet you at the gate.”

She bowed slightly. “Of course, my Thane.” She turned on her heel and headed towards the horses. They had gotten an extra horse in Whiterun earlier, so Elsebet didn’t have to ride with Lydia again.

Alvor blinked at her. “You’re a Thane.”

“I’m also the Dragonborn, Alvor.”

His eyes widened, his mouth going slack. There was an audible _clack_ as he closed it, and grit his teeth. “I’m sorry about the comment earlier. I didn’t know.”

“It seems no one knows.”

There was an awkward silence as the two of them just stood there for a couple minutes, before Alvor cleared his throat. “So, those arrows.”

“Right.”

“That’ll be fifty septims, Elsebet.”

“Surely it costs more,” she said, fishing out a coinpurse.

He waved his hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it. If you’re saving the world from dragons, it’s easily worth it.”

She grinned at him as they traded. “Thanks, Alvor.”

“It’s not a problem.”

They said their goodbyes, and Elsebet headed to the Riverwood Traders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How'd you like it? If you did, please press the kudo button and comment what you liked. It makes me extremely happy to hear from you guys!


	18. Another Bloody Dragon Attack

Elsebet, Risorallen, and Lydia rode towards Kynesgrove, Elsebet’s pack significantly lighter now that the Horn wasn’t in there.

The three of them had gone to High Hrothgar, and Master Arngeir had given her the last Word to Unrelenting Force; meaning, she had her first full Shout, though she hadn’t used it before. She had a feeling she’d be using it soon, though.

Kynesgrove was a small mining town just south of Windhelm. The sun hung high above them as the horses trotted up the path leading to the inn, where a woman was running from.

“No, you don’t want to go up there!” She shouted, stopping the trio. “A dragon… it’s attacking!”

They looked at each other, wondering if they were too late.

Delphine ran up the road behind them and turned to the woman. “Where’s the dragon?”

The woman pointed to the hill behind her. “It flew over the town and landed on the old burial mound! I don’t know what it’s doing up there, but I’m not waiting around to find out!”

She then bolted away from them, down the road they just came from and towards Windhelm. Lydia held out a hand for Delphine, and the older woman took it and climbed onto her horse. It would be quicker to do that instead of running to catch up with the three.

The four of them galloped through the town and up to the dragon mound, where a huge black dragon was flying around, but not doing anything. When they finally got up to the mound, the dragon was hovering over the mound. The unmounted their horses and hid behind a rock.

The name Alduin forced itself into Elsebet’s mind, and she realised this was the same dragon that attacked Helgen.

“ _Sahloknir! Ziil gro dovah ulse!_ ’

She had no idea what it meant, but it was definitely the same language as the carvings on the two Word Walls she’d encountered.

“ _Slen Tiid Vo!_ ”

An almost-invisible force came out of Alduin’s mouth, and hit the dragon burial mound, making the ground break open and a skeletal dragon to climb out. It’s skin started to appear, like the reverse of what happened when she took a dragon’s soul.

“This is worse than I thought…” Delphine muttered, peering out from behind the rock.

Everything inside Elsebet told her to attack the dragon now, while it was still regaining its strength. But she was scared—she had every right to be—and she’d seen how much damage Alduin had done to Helgen first-hand. She had been there, after all.

Sahloknir looked up at Alduin as its skin formed fully. “ _Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?_ ”

“ _Geh, Sahloknir, kraali mir,_ ” Alduin responded, then turned his piercing gaze on Elsebet. “ _Ful, loseiDovahkiin? Zu’u koraav nid nol do hi._ You do not even know our tongue, do you?” What he said startled Elsebet. She didn’t know dragons could speak in the human tongue. “Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah.”

She stood there, paralysed. The dragon had talked to her. _Directly to her_. Sure, it didn’t know her name, but it had called her Dovahkiin, who she was in their tongue.

“ _Sahloknir, krii daar joorre._ ”

Alduin flew away, and Sahloknir leaped into the air. It let out a roar, and Elsebet pulled her wooden bow off her back and knocked an arrow, aiming for the dragon’s underbelly. Lydia, Risorallen and Delphine leaped into action, as well, the latter two drawing their own bows and firing arrow-after-arrow at Sahloknir. Risorallen, who didn’t have a bow, pulled his battleaxe off his back and waited for the dragon to land.

Sahloknir hovered above them and let out a jet of fire towards them. They all ducked behind the rock they were hiding behind earlier. Elsebet felt the heat of the flames, and the smell of burnt hair filled the air. When the fire stopped, Lydia and Delphine running out from behind the rock to pepper the dragon with arrows, Elsebet took her new elven dagger out of its sheath and grabbed the end of her hair, which was still smouldering. She then cut it, and the cut plait fell to the ground. She untangled the rest of her hair, and the ground shook as the dragon landed.

Sheathing the dagger, she stood up and unsheathed her steel sword, anger evident in her eyes. She’d _liked_ the length of her hair, and because of the dragon she had to cut it. The new ends of the hair tickled her jaw and cheeks as she ran at the dragon that wasn’t too far from her, sword raised above her head. She slashed down on the dragon’s head, leaving a massive gash on its snout.

It roared into the air, and snapped at her. She dodged out of the way and rolled back onto her feet. It was looking at her with murder in its eyes, and it opened it’s giant maw.

“ _YOL TOOR SHUL!_ ”

“ _FEIM!_ ”

She became ethereal as the fire sprouted from Sahloknir’s mouth. She could still feel the heat, but it didn’t harm her as it passed through her harmlessly. Risorallen stopped his assault on its wing, stopping it from taking off, and stared at the see-through form of his best friend.

The fire stopped, and she became opaque again. It snapped at her again, and instead of dodging, she thrust her sword upwards, making it stick out of the top of the dragon’s mouth as its teeth sunk into her arm. She grit her teeth as pain laced up her arm, andthe dragon buckled as it tried to get the sword out.

It’s teeth came out of her arm, and she let the sword go. It convulsed more, obviously in pain, and Lydia stuck it in it’s cheek with her own sword. It cried out again. Risorallen hit it in the neck with his battleaxe, and the dragon finally stopped convulsing.

It was dead.

Elsebet held her bleeding arm as the dragon’s skin started to dissolve into a faint white light, collecting above the dragon and then _whooshing_ over to her, circling her a couple times before sinking into her chest. It was a lot easier to stay on two feet this time around, and that she was glad of.

“So you really are…” Delphine started.

The dragon dissolved completely, and Elsebet’s sword clattered onto the ground. Lydia picked it up and wiped the dragon’s blood off the sword, then put it in her Thane’s sheath.

“Can we save that for later?” She asked, cradling her throbbing arm to her chest. “This really hurts.”

Delphine nodded. “Of course.”

Lydia brought one of the horses over, and helped Elsebet onto it as she preformed a small healing spell, which just stopped the bleeding but left two massive holes in the side of her arm.

“Shit,” Lydia said, climbing onto the horse as well. “That looks bad.”

“It feels worse.”

Delphine looked deep in thought as she climbed onto Elsebet’s horse, and the four of them made their way to Windhelm.

* * *

 

As the healers at the Temple of Talos attempted to fix the two massive holes in Elsebet’s arm, Risorallen went and booked a room at the Candlehearth Hall, the closest inn, for him, Lydia, and Delphine. Elsebet was to stay in the Temple until the healers decided she was well enough to travel again.

One of the priestesses, Jora Wing-Wish, was currently redressing the wound, two days after the fight with Sahloknir in Kynesgrove. So far, the priestess hadn’t asked any questions, but she was obviously curious.

“You can ask some questions, if you want,” Elsebet said, startling the woman.

“I’m sorry?”

“I can tell you’re curious,” she elaborated.

Jora looked away for a second, before going back to the linen she was wrapping around Elsebet’s arm. “How’d you get the wound?”

The side of Elsebet’s mouth quirked up. “I was fighting a dragon and decided to stab it’s mouth.”

Jora looked at her, stunned. “You fought a _dragon?_ ”

She nodded. “Yup.”

“Why were you fighting a dragon?”

Elsebet picked up the cup next to her and took a sip of the water inside. “You remember Delphine, one of the women that came in here with me?” At Jora’s nod, she continued. “Well, she needs a Dragonborn for something, and she needed proof I was the Dragonborn.”

Jora stood up from her seat, her husband, Lortheim, choking on the bread he was eating by the altar.

“You’re the Dragonborn?”

Elsebet nodded, and Jora took a shaky breath before going back to Elsebet’s arm.


	19. I Don't Want to Join the War

That afternoon, Elsebet sat with Lydia, Risorallen, and Delphine in the back room of the Temple of Talos, Elsebet finally being awake long enough for Delphine to explain everything to her, and why she needed the Dragonborn. Jora and Lortheim had decided to keep her asleep for most of the time, since full healing would be extremely painful.

“What do you want to know?” Delphine asked, dressed in the same leathers she’d worn during the fight.

“Who are you and what do you want with me?” Elsebet asked. The times she had been awake, she’d been thinking up questions to ask the Breton woman.

“I’m one of the last members of the Blades,” she explained. “A very long time ago, the Blades were dragonslayers, and we served the Dragonborn, the greatest dragonslayer. For the last two hundred years, since the last Dragonborn emperor, the Blades have been searching for a purpose. Now that dragons are coming back, our purpose is clear again. We need to stop them.”

“What do you know about the dragons coming back?”

She shook her head. “Not a damn thing. I was just as surprised as you to see that big black dragon over in Kynesgrove.”

“I’ve seen that dragon before,” Elsebet said, causing her three companions to look at her strangely, “the one that got away.”

“Really?” Delphine asked, eyes wide. “Where?”

“It was the one that attacked Helgen, when Ulfric escaped from the Imperials. It was the first one to be seen since they disappeared.” She didn’t tell them that whenever she saw a new dragon, its name was forced into her mind.

Delphine rubbed her chin. “Interesting. Same dragon…” She hit the table next to her with her fist. “Damn it, we’re blundering around in the dark here! We need to figure out who’s behind it all!”

“Who’re the Blades?” Lydia asked, arms crossed against her chest.

Delphine sighed. “Exactly. Nobody even remembers our name these days. We used to be known across Tamriel as the protectors of the Septim Emperors. Those days are long gone, though. For the last two hundred years, we’ve been searching for the next Dragonborn to guide and guard, as we are sworn to do. But we never found one. Until now.”

“What’s our next move?” Elsebet asked. “You know—when I’m allowed to leave.”

Delphine chuckled slightly. “The first thing we need to do is figure out who’s behind the dragons,” she said. “The Thalmor are our best lead. If they aren’t involved, they’ll know who is.”

“Remind me… who’re the Thalmor?” She asked. She knew she was getting a little annoying, but she was just so fascinated by it all.

“The faction that rules the Aldmeri Dominion,” Delphine answered. “The ones who almost destroyed the Empire during the Great War, thirty years back. There’s no worse enemy to humankind in Tamriel. The Empire barely survived the last war. The Thalmor don’t intend to lose the next one.”

“What makes you think the Thalmor are bringing dragons back?” Risorallen asked.

Delphine shrugged. “Nothing solid. Yet. But my gut tells me it can’t be anybody else.” When she saw the confused looks on Elsebet, Risorallen, and Lydia, she elaborated. “The Empire had captured Ulfric. The war was basically over. Then a dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes, and the war is back on. And now the dragons are attacking everywhere, indiscriminately. Skyrim is weakened, the Empire is weakened. Who else gains from that but the Thalmor?”

“So,” Elsebet started, “we need to find out what the Thalmor know about the dragons. Any ideas?”

The Breton waved her finger at her. “If we could get into the Thalmor Embassy… it’s their centre of their operations in Skyrim…” She shook her head. “The problem is that place is locked up tighter than a miser’s purse. They could teach _me_ a few things about paranoia…”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “If that’s so, how do we get into the Embassy?”

“I’m not sure yet. I have a few ideas I’ve been thinking over the last couple days, but I’ll need some time to pull things together…” She sighed through her nose. “Meet me back in Riverwood once you’re all healed up. It’ll give me time to think through it all more.”

She got up then and said her goodbyes, leaving the Temple of Talos. She turned back before she pulled the door closed behind her. “Keep an eye on the sky. This is only going to get worse.”

“Well, _that_ was anticlimactic,” Risorallen said, sitting down in Delphine’s vacated chair once they were sure she wasn’t coming back.

Elsebet grinned, shaking her head and chuckling. “So, you happy now we played another dragon together?”

“It makes up for the one you played without me. Say, when did you get that Shout you used?”

“Ustengrav,” she said, rocking her head forward. “That was the first time I used it, and I’m actually glad I unlocked it. I would be barbecue if I didn’t, and the world would again have no Dragonborn.”

“What about that sister of yours?” He asked.

She shrugged. “I have no idea if she’s the Dragonborn, but I highly doubt it. Since dragons are back, wouldn’t _all_ Dragonborns be revealed?”

It was Risorallen’s turn to shrug. “No idea.”

The door to the Temple opened and, thinking it was just someone who wanted to pray at the alter, Elsebet continued talking.

“So if no one else has come out as Dragonborn, does that mean I’m the only one?”

“You are the Dragonborn?”

The deep voice caused Elsebet to look at the new arrival, and she paled when she saw who it was. Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of the Stormcloaks and Jarl of Windhelm, was standing near them, his housecarl standing next to him. 

Elsebet swallowed the extra saliva in her mouth and nodded. “Yes.”

“I was wondering when I was going to meet you,” he said. “You look familiar.”

She stared at him for a second, wondering why she would look familiar. Then it clicked—they were both at Helgen, though Elsebet was an unfortunate bystander while Jarl Ulfric had been imprisoned. It was weird—the three of them plus Delphine had just been talking about Ulfric, and his escape from Helgen.

“I was at Helgen.”

The Jarl’s housecarl blinked. He obviously thought Ulfric Stormcloak was the only one that survived the ordeal, however unlikely that may be. If there was one survivor, there was bound to be more.

The Jarl nodded. “Of course. I remember seeing you get dragged away from the inn by an Imperial soldier.”

“He saved my life.”

“Does he know you’re the Dragonborn?”

Elsebet shook her head. “No. I haven’t seen him since we went our separate ways in Riverwood.”

Jarl Ulfric smirked. “You seem oddly comfortable speaking with a Jarl.”

“You’re not the first one I’ve conversed like this with.”

He let out a chuckle. “So the rumours of the Dragonborn being Thane of Whiterun are true.” He gestured to her arm. “What happened to your arm?”

“I got bit by a dragon,” she said. “Wouldn’t recommend it. It hurts.”

Ulfric’s housecarl blinked at her. “You got bit by a dragon?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Maybe you should join the Stormcloaks,” Jarl Ulfric said. “You’re obviously a capable warrior. The cause could use someone like you.”

She didn’t want to tell the Jarl no, since he was a Jarl, but she didn’t particularly _want_ to join the Stormcloaks. She was perfectly fine staying out of the war, thank you very much. Besides, she had a dragon problem to deal with, and getting sidetracked by a war wasn’t going to help.

“I’ll think about it.”

He nodded, and then left the Temple. Something told Elsebet that he only went to talk to her to recruit her, which wasn’t going to happen. Ever.

* * *

 

The next day, Elsebet enjoyed the cool winds as her horse trotted underneath her, taking her towards Whiterun, and then Riverwood. The palomino stallion hadn’t been with her long, but she had grown attached to the horse.

She stroked his mane, thinking idly. “I should give you a name,” she muttered.

She ignored, Risorallen’s glance as Whiterun became visible in the distance, the sun lowering over the silhouette of Dragonsreach.

“How about… Caspian?” She asked the stallion.

He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t—he was a horse. Horses couldn’t talk. If he did, she would’ve thought she was crazy.

She hummed. “I like it.”

“You’re talking to the horse,” Lydia said idly, eyes scanning the horizon for threats on her Thane.

“I was giving him a name, Lydia. You guys should name your horses, too,” she said, looking at her two companions.

Risorallen rolled his eyes, but smirked. “For your information,” he said, patting his dapple grey stallion’s neck, “he already has a name. Pilgrim.” Elsebet raised an eyebrow, and he raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, don’t blame me. He already had the name when I bought him.”

Lydia eyed her black-and-white piebald mare. “I always wanted a dog named Jana as a child,” she said.

Elsebet clapped her hands. “Then it’s settled! Let’s be off, Jana, Caspian, and Pilgrim! Let’s go on an adventure!” She kicked Caspian’s side, and he went into a full gallop. She laughed widely as Lydia and Risorallen looked at each. The latter shrugged and urged Pilgrim into a gallop, while the former just shook her head and watched the two gallop into the distance before following them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm not going to be able to update next Wednesday because I'm going on camp. I'll be back on Friday, so I'll update then instead of Wednesday.


	20. A Dusty Old Wing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm back from camp! And for waiting patiently, I've decided to give you an extra chapter!

After getting her bow from Adrianne, Elsebet, Risorallen and Lydia headed to Riverwood, the sun setting as they rode. They got to the town as it dipped over the horizon, lighting the sky in brilliant colours that Elsebet couldn’t help but gaze at them.

Risorallen looked over at Elsebet, and the wonder on her face as she looked up at the sky. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that their time together was almost up, since it would be three weeks the next day. He had grown quite attached to Elsebet, and it wasn’t really fair on her to leech off three weeks’ worth of money for her to spend most of it getting healed. So, he didn’t say anything.

His eyes went to her arm, where two pale circles were in the middle of her forearm. In the three weeks since he’d known her, she had gotten more scars than she had in her whole life. She had three—four, if you counted the two circles where the dragon impaled her arm as one each; one on her shoulder, where she got shot by a skeleton; one just above her right hip where a vampire had stabbed her with a dagger; and where the dragon had bit her.

She’d also gotten several new weapons. She had the same elven bow strung to her back, now fixed with shiny veins of moonstone where it had snapped, making the bow look better than it did before. She’d sold the wooden bow to Adrianne Avenicci when they had picked up that bow. She also had a steel sword—stained red with dragon blood—tied to her waist and pumping against her left leg, and there was the same elven dagger the vampire had stabbed her with in a thigh sheath that the blacksmith in Whiterun had recommended her.

Her hair was shorter, too—something he hadn’t realised until they were in the Temple of Talos and she was started to get healed. Instead of her hair going down to the small of her back, it now curled around her jaw and cheeks, a mess from the lack of brushing. She enjoyed it being short, but she missed the length it had. And, apparently, her head now felt lighter, so that was a plus.

Her cloak—which had miraculously survived the dragon attack at Kynesgrove by being in her pack—was wrapped around her shoulders, and she pulled the edges closer as the night became colder.

The three of them hopped off their horses and tied them to the fence surrounding the Sleeping Giant Inn, then entered the inn itself.

It was just as noisy and busy as it had been several days earlier, when they first met Delphine. Said Breton was currently conversing with the barkeep, Orgnar, but looked over when she heard the door open. She smiled, said something to Orgnar, and motioned for them to follow her into the room they had rented last time, with the false wardrobe. They made their way through the throng of people and into the room.

Delphine was wearing the same blue dress they had first seen her in, and she was currently descending the stairs into the hidden basement. They followed her down.

At the bottom, Delphine turned to them. “I found a way to get you into the Thalmor Embassy,” she said.

Elsebet blinked. “That was fast.”

The Breton smirked. “In this business, you have to be fast. Anyway, the leader of the Skyrim Thalmor, Elenwen, regularly throws parties at the Embassy for the rich and well-off. There’s a party there in three day’s time, and I have a spy inside that can get only one of you in there.”

“Only one?” Lydia asked. “Why?”

“It’ll be too noticeable if he snuck more than one name on the list. I think Elsebet should go.”

The Nord pointed to herself. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re the Dragonborn. But, if you don’t want to go, I understand.”

Elsebet shook her head. “No, I’ll do it. What do I need to do?”

“The Embassy is near Solitude,” Delphine explained. “Meet my contact, Malborn, at the Winking Skeever Inn, in Solitude. He’s a Wood Elf, and has plenty of hate towards the Thalmor,” she explained. “You can trust him. Give him you weapons, armour—anything you think you’ll need. He can smuggle them in for you.”

Elsebet nodded. “I guess I’m off to Solitude, then,” she said.

* * *

 

Delphine, Lydia, and Risorallen had followed Elsebet to Solitude. They parted at the stables, where a carriage was waiting to take her to the Embassy, after Delphine had given her some fancy clothes to blend in with everyone there.

Elsebet headed to the Winking Skeever Inn, ignoring the execution of a Nord man opposite it. She was just glad she couldn’t hear it from inside the inn.

She found the Wood Elf in the corner of the inn. She could tell it was him, since he was the only Wood Elf in the inn. She sat down opposite him.   
“Our mutual friend sent me,” she said, pulling her cloak nearer to her with her foot so the passing barmaid could pass without tripping.

Malborn raised an eyebrow, giving the Nord an incredulous look. “ _You’re_ the one she sent?” He shook his head. “I hope you know know what you’re doing.”

“Of course I do. She wouldn’t have sent me if I didn’t.”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What do you want me to take in? I won’t be able to take in much, though.”

Elsebet took her bow and quiver off her back, then placed them on the table in front of her. She also took her dagger and its scabbard and placed it next to them. “This is all I need.”

The Wood Elf blew out some air and opened the empty pack that laid at his feet, then put her weapons in it. He stood up, bid her goodbye, and left. She stood up and left as well.

That was when a Bosmer man with no eyes grabbed her by the arms and shook her slightly.

“You! You can help me! You help people, right?”

She pushed him off her, but he was reluctant to let go. 

“Please help me!”

“Alright, I’ll help you! Just let go!”

He sighed gratefully and let go of her, taking a step away. The execution had stopped, and they were currently dragging the headless body of a man away from the stage and towards the Hall of the Dead.

“Thank you!” He cried. “My Master, he abandoned me! He went on vacation, and he hasn’t come home! Please, bring him back!”

“Okay,” she said, the sun beating down on her. “Where is he?”

“In the Blue Palace, in Pelagius’s Wing! You’ll need this to get in.” He handed her a hipbone, and she almost dropped it in disgust. Who carried a _hipbone_ around?

She nodded, swallowing the bile that rose in her throat as she placed it in her pack. “I’ll be back,” she said.

“Thank you!” He cried as she headed towards the towering palace in the distance.

It took ten minutes to get there and, since it was her first time in Solitude, had to ask for directions from a beggar, whom she gave ten Septims to. He thanked her and went on his merry way as she headed in the direction he had pointed her.

There was a guard outside the entrance, who nodded at her as she passed. A Thane, dressed in clothes more fancy than what she wore, attempted to flirt with her, but she quickly got away, where she bumped into a maid.

“I’m sorry,” the maid said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“No, it’s my fault. I was trying to get away from that Thane.”

The woman nodded apprehensively. “That’s just Thane Erikur. He has a goal of bedding every woman in Solitude.”

Elsebet rolled her eyes. “Bastard. Say,” she said, “you wouldn’t happen to have a key to the Pelagius Wing, would you?”

She nodded. “I do.” Her eyes widened. “B-but no one’s allowed in there without Falk’s approval.”

“Falk wants me to check it out, but forgot to give me a key. Could you be a dear and open it for me?” Elsebet hoped it would work.

The maid nodded. “Of course, then. Follow me.”

She led the way to the sealed-off Wing and unlocked the door. “Just don’t be too long,” she said.

Elsebet nodded, and entered the Wing and the maid closed the door behind her.

The wing was dusty and full of cobwebs. She shivered as memories of Bleak Falls Barrow and Ustengrav came into mind, and she swiped at one of the cobwebs in front of her and explored the Wing. She found a set of stairs and climbed up them, pulling her cloak around her so the rotting wood surrounding her wouldn’t cut her. The hall the stairs led into was immaculately clean, compared to the state of the rest of the Wing. The carpet wasn’t frayed, and the cupboard pushed against the wall wasn’t rotting.

She took a couple steps forward, and then she started to fall.


	21. The Maddest of Gods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two of two! Hope you enjoy, and I'll be back on Sunday!

Around Elsebet, the words went dark. Then, she found herself standing in a clearing, a table in the middle with a throne and several chairs surrounding said table. Lounging on the throne was a man in multi-coloured clothing, the right side purple and the left side green, with random frills anywhere and everywhere. He was old, with a shock of white hair and a white goatee. The other man was sitting on the other side of the table and dressed in brown finery, and was talking to the older man.

“More tea, Pelly my dear?” The multicoloured man asked the other one.

The other man shook his head and waved his hand in dismissal. “Oh, I couldn’t. Goes right through me. Besides, I have so many things to do… So many undesirables to contend with. Naysayers. Buffoons. Detractors. Why, my headsman hadn’t slept in three days!”

“You are far too hard on yourself, my dear, sweet, homicidally insane Pelagius. What would the people do without you? Dance? Sing? Smile? Grow old?”

Did he say _Pelagius_? And homicidally insane? Was that Pelagius Septim the third?

“You are the _best_ Septim that ever ruled. Well, except for that Martin fellow, but he turned into a dragon god, and that’s hardly sporting.”

Yup, the brown-clad man was the maddest ruler in the history of Tamriel. And he was having a chat with someone that looked like a madman.

“You know,” the older man said, “I was there for the whole sordid affair. Marvellous time! Butterflies, blood, a Fox, a severed head… Oh, and the cheese! To die for.”

Pelagius Septim rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, as you’ve said, countless times before…”

“Hafrumph!” The older man let out. “Well then, if it’s going to be like that… Perhaps it’s best I take my leave. A good day to you sir. I said good day!”

The Mad Emperor rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, go. Leave me to my ceaseless responsibilities and burdens…”

Pelagius Septim then disappeared in a swirling blue vortex, like a conjuration spell.

The man that was still there threw his hands into the air. “How rude! Can’t be bothered to host an old friend for a decade or two. You!” He pointed at Elsebet, startling her. “Come closer! What do you want?”

Elsebet quickly walked towards him, slightly terrified, and swallowed. “I’m here to deliver a message.”

“Reeaaallllyyyy?” He drawled. He got excited. “Ooh, ooh, what kind of message? A song? A summons? Wait, I know! A death threat written on the back of an Argonian concubine! Those are my favourite.”

_How mad was this guy?_ Elsebet thought.

“Well?” He asked, getting angry. “Spit it out, mortal. I haven’t got an eternity! Actually… I do. Little joke. But seriously. What’s the message?”

“I was asked to retrieve you from you vacation,” she said, nervous. There was something about the man that radiated power, though she didn’t know why.

The man was calm now. “Were you now? By whom?” She opened her mouth to answer, but he raised a finger. “Wait! Don’t tell me! I want to guess!” He lowered his arm. “Was it Molag? No, no… Little Tim, the toymaker’s son? The ghost of King Lysandus? Or was it… Yes! Stanley, that talking grapefruit from Passwall!” He laughed loudly, then stopped suddenly. “Wrong on all accounts, aren’t I? Ha! No matter! Honestly, I don’t want to know. Why ruin the surprise?” His voice went deeper. “But more to the point. Do you—tiny, puny, expendable little mortal—actually think you can convince me to leave?”

Mortal. He said mortal. If Elsebet was mortal, did that mean he wasn’t? If he was, he definitely wasn’t an Aedra. He’d be a Daedra. Elsebet’s eyes widened. The man in front of her was a _Daedra_. She hoped he wasn’t one of the Princes.

“Because that’s… crazy. You do realise who you’re dealing with here?”

“You’re a madman.”

He blinked, surprised. “Jolly good guess! But only half right. I’m a mad _god_. _The_ Mad God, actually.” Oh gods, he was a Prince. “It’s a family title. Gets passed down from me to myself every few thousand years. Now you. You can call me Ann Marie. But only if you’re partial to being flayed alive and having an angry immortal skip rope with entrails. If not… Then call me Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness. Charmed.”

She didn’t want to push her luck, him being a Daedric Prince and all, but she had a job to do. “So does that mean you’ll leave? Or not?”

“Now that’s the real question, isn’t it? Because honestly, how much time off could a demented Daedra really need? So, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to leave. That’s right. I’m done. Holiday… complete. Time to return to the hum drum day-to-day. On one condition. You have to find your way out first. Good luck with that.”

Elsebet’s face fell. What? She had somewhere to be! The only reason she went to the stupid palace was because that beggar wouldn’t let go of her! She didn’t want to be the pawn of a Daedric Prince, but it wasn’t like she had a choice. And, she didn’t have any weapons, seeing as how she had just handed them to Malborn so he could sneak them into the Thalmor Embassy.

“Simple,” she said, trying to sound cocky.

“Is it?” He asked, an eyebrow raised. “Care to look around? This is not, I dare say, the Solitude botanical gardens. Have you have any idea where you are? Where you truly are?” When Elsebet shook her head, he elaborated. “Welcome to the deceptively verdant mind of Emperor Pelagius the Third. That’s right! You’re in the head of a dead, homicidally insane monarch.” He let out a laugh. “Now, I know what you’re thinking. Can I still rely on my swords and spells and sneaking and all that nonsense? Sure, sure. Or… you could use…”

A staff fell into her hands. It was long, with three heads carved into the top with their mouths wide open. It buzzed in her hands, wanting to be used.

“The Wabbajack! Huh? Huh? Didn’t see that coming, did you?”

He then sat down in his throne and all but ignored Elsebet.

She looked around the grove she was in. There were three arches, leading to three different paths. She’d probably have to go down all of them and do whatever was down them.

She turned to one of the arches and went down it.

“Ah, now this is a sad path,” the voice of Sheogorath sounded in Elsebet’s mind when she walked through the arch. “Pelagius hated and feared many things. Assassins, wild dogs, the undead, pumpernickel. But the deepest, keenest hatred was for himself.”

In front of her, there were two figures. One was dressed in Imperial armour, and towered over the other figure. He was kicking and hitting the smaller one, and the smaller one, dressed in miners clothes and going to the taller one’s knee, just stood there, taking the hits.

“The attacks he makes on himself can be seen here fully. They are always carried out on the weakest part of his fragile self. The self-loathing enhances Pelagius’ anger! Ah, but his confidence shrinks with every hit. You must bring the two into balance.”

She had no idea what to do. Usually, she had someone with her to help, or she had a little bit of an idea of what to do. So, she went over what she knew.

The staff—or, as Sheogorath had called it, the Wabbajack—had something to do with it. She might have to use it on the two figures in front of her, Anger and Confidence. Oblivion, she’d only used a staff once, and that was because her mother had wanted her to try it out to see if she was magically inclined. She was also a kid when she used it.

She tried to remember what her mother told her—that the staff wasn’t a weapon, it was a tool used to enhance the magic inside you. Elsebet let out a breath and let her magicka flow through her veins, much like when she was using a healing spell. She directed it into the Wabbajack, and a red ball appeared at the tip. She aimed it at Confidence, and let it fire.

It hit Confidence in the chest, and a red swirl surrounded him as a loud _bang_ filled the air. The red swirl stopped, and Confidence was now up to Anger’s chest. She shot Anger, and he shrunk so the two were at the same height. She hit both of them again, so they were now at opposite heights than when they started, and the voice of Sheogorath filled Elsebet’s head again.

“Wonderfully done,” he said. “Pelagius is finally ready to love himself… and continue hating everyone else.”

She exited the path and made her way to the next arch.

“You’ve headed down the path of dreams. Unfortunately for you, Pelagius suffered night terrors from a young age.” Elsebet continued down the path until she met a dead-end, with trees surrounding them on all sides and a bed lying in the middle of the clearing. Lying on the bed looked like a young version of the Pelagius Sheogorath had been talking to when Elsebet had arrived in the monarch’s head. “All you need to do is find something to wake poor Pelagius up. You’ll find his nightmares easy to repel… but persistent.”

_So, I have to wake him up_ , Elsebet thought. _Sounds easy enough_.  
  
She shot a blast of the Wabbajack at Pelagius. Not far from them, a _bang_ sounded, and a red cloud appeared east of them. A wolf ran out of the cloud as it disappeared, and ran around to try and attack the sleeping Septim. She sent a blast of the Wabbajack at the wolf, and it puffed into the red smoke before becoming a goat.

She blinked at it, but shook her head and turned back to Pelagius. She shot him again, and the red cloud formed in the opposite direction the wolf came from. The sound of a sword unsheathed filled the clearing, and Elsebet turned around to see a bandit clad in steel plate armour running towards them with a greatsword in hand, and surprisingly the goat ran to attack it. Elsebet rolled out of the way of the charging bandit and sent a blast at him, turning him into a child.

She shot Pelagius again, and a Hagraven appeared in front of them and sent a fireball at the sleeping Pelagius. Elsebet quickly blasted her with the Wabbajack and it turned into a maiden with revealing clothes.

She blasted Pelagius two more times, making a flame atronach and a Dragon Priest appear, and when she blasted each of them they turned into a campfire and a chest respectively. The chest was empty when she checked it, and the sleeping Pelagius woke up and got out of bed.

“Well now, that’s something to crow about,” Sheogorath said. “With Pelagius up and about you’re moving right along. We’ll both be home in no time.”

She went back down the path and went through the third, and last, archway.

“Oh, good choice,” Sheogorath crowed. “Well, good for me. I find everyone being out to get you so terribly entertaining. You might find it… less so. You see, Pelagius’ mother was… well.. let’s say ‘unique’. Although, I suppose in the grand scheme of things, she was fairly average for a Septim.”

As she got to the end of the path, there was an stone structure, with stone steps leading onto the top. Elsebet climbed the stairs and saw it was an arena of some kind. There were two storm atronachs fighting down below, while Pelagius was on the other side, sitting on a throne, with a bodyguard on each side of him.

“That woman wielded fear like a cleaver. Or did she wield a clever and make people afraid? I never get that part right… Oh, but she taught her son well. Pelagius learned at a very young age that danger could come from anywhere. At any time. Delivered… by anyone. The answer here is simple, you simpleton! Use your Wabbajack to defeat the enemy, while they do the same!”

An enemy from anywhere? Elsebet eyed the guards. It wouldn’t hurt to try… She raised the Wabbajack and shot a blast at one of the guards. It hit him square in the chest, and he and the other one disappeared in puffs of red smoke and were replaced by wolves.

“Oho! I thought you’d never figure it out. With the threat gone, Pelagius is under the delusion that he is safe. Which means you’ve helped him… sort of. And we’re that much closer to home.”

Elsebet made her way back to Sheogorath, who was eating a block of cheese. “I’ve done it. I’ve fixed Pelagius’ mind.”

“Hmmmm…” The Daedric Prince tilted his head to the side. “‘Fixed’ is such a subjective term. I think ‘treated’ is far more appropriate, don’t you? Like one does a rash, or an arrow in the face.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Ah, but no matter. Heartless mortal that you are, you’ve actually succeeded and survived. I am forced to honor my end of the bargain. So congratulations. You’re free to go. I… have been known to change my mind. So… go. Really.”

He stood up and swept his arms wide. “Pelagius Septim the Third, once the Mad Emperor of Tamriel, now so boringly sane.” He rested his hands on his hips. “I always knew he had it in him! Well, I suppose it’s back to the Shivering Isles. The trouble Haskill can get into while I’m gone simply boggles the mind… Let’s make sure I’m not forgetting anything. Clothes?” He looked at his clothes. “Check. Beard?” His hand went to his beard. “Check. Luggage? Luggage! Now where did I put my luggage?”

A portal opened up on the other side of the table, and the man that had grabbed her earlier was standing there. “Master!” He cried. “You’ve taken me back! Does this mean we’re going home? Ah, happy times! I can’t wait to…”

Sheogorath flapped his hand. “Yes, yes, that’s quite enough celebrations. Let’s send you on ahead, shall we?”

The man disappeared into another portal.

The Daedric Prince turned his gaze on Elsebet. “As for you, my little mortal minion… Feel free to keep the Wabbajack. As a symbol of my… Oh, just take the damn thing. You take care of yourself, now. And if you ever find yourself in New Sheoth, do look me up. We could share a strawberry torte. Ta ta!”

A swirling purple vortex appeared around her, and she found herself back in the Pelagius Wing of the Blue Palace.


	22. Party at the Embassy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! I'm back with chapter 22! I have about ten chapters on this, so you guys will definitely get more for a while! And, I'm on holiday for about ten weeks, so I'll be able to write more!

Delphine glared at Elsebet as she trudged into the Solitude Stables, the Wabbajack still in her hand.

“Where have you been?” The Breton asked. “The party starts in two hours. And what in Oblivion is that?” She pointed to the staff in Elsebet’s hand.

“The Wabbajack. One of Sheogorath’s Daedric Artefacts,” she said, twirling it around.

Delphine scowled, her eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”

“Oh yes, I forgot to tell you—I had to go to the Blue Palace. There, I met the Daedric Prince of Madness, Sheogorath, and was stuck inside the mind of a dead, homicidally insane monarch; more commonly known as Emperor Pelagius Septim the Third.”

“You’re making that up.”

The Nord stopped twirling her staff and shook it slightly. “I have this, don’t I?”

Delphine blinked, trying to process it. Slowly, she nodded. “Okay. I can take that while you’re in the Thalmor Embassy—don’t worry, I’ll give it back,” she said when she saw Elsebet’s face. “It’s not mine, and I never wanted a Daedric Artefact. You can keep it, but you can’t take it to the Embassy with you. Speaking of, did you give your stuff to Malborn?”

Elsebet nodded. “I did. Where’s Lydia and Risorallen?”

“Up in Solitude. Risorallen has a brother here they’re staying with until you get back. I’ll be joining them once you leave.”

The Nord almost cursed Risorallen for having so many brothers before she remembered that Cyres had gone up to Solitude to join the Imperial Legion not long after they arrived in Whiterun to get Elsebet’s bow fixed, and that he didn’t have any other brothers. Sisters, yes, but no brothers that she hadn’t met.

She nodded, giving the Wabbajack to Delphine. “I’ll be going, then.” She was just glad she unloaded everything while they were in Riverwood.

When Delphine handed her her invitation, she made her way to the carriage that was waiting for her and climbed into it. The driver looked over his shoulder, nodded, and urged his horse—a beautiful bay mare—to start moving. Elsebet waved to Delphine as the carriage started out of the stables and towards the Thalmor Embassy.

* * *

 

Elsebet climbed off the carriage when they arrived at the Thalmor Embassy. It was big, and made of stone bricks. There were two Thalmor guards outside the front, one at the bottom of the set of stairs leading to the entrance, wearing hooded robes that Thalmor wizards wore, and one at the actual entrance, clad in light elven armour, that would most likely check the invitations.

“Ah! A fellow latecomer to Elenwen’s little soiree.”

Elsebet turned around to see a Redguard walking through the gates, somehow already drunk. He wore clothing that bordered on finery, and it was obvious he didn’t care at all about the party.

“And arriving by carriage, no less! I salute you, ma’am. My lateness is due to getting lost up this gods-forsaken mountain than to any desire to actually arrive late.” He sat down on a rock, most likely to catch his breath.

She walked up to the set of stairs, and the wizard held out a hand. “Your invitation, please.” She handed the piece of paper to the Altmer, who looked it over and gave it back to her. “Thank you, ma’am. Go right on in.”

She smiled a thank you and ascended the stairs, then entered the Embassy. Almost as soon as she walked in, she was ambushed by a High Elf woman dressed in Thalmor robes. 

“Welcome,” she said. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador in Skyrim. And you are…?”

_So, this is the host,_ Elsebet said, forcing a fake smile on her face. “My name is Elsebet.”

She nodded, a fake smile also on her face. “Ah, yes. I remember your name from the guest list. Please, tell me more about yourself. What brings you to this…”

“Excuse me, Madam Ambassador,” Malborn interrupted from behind the counter that was serving drinks, “I am so sorry to interrupt you…”

“What is it, Malborn?” She asked, a harsh tone in her voice as she glared at the Bosmer.

It was obvious Malborn was trying to take Elenwen’s attention away from Elsebet. “It’s just that we’ve ran out of the Alto Wine. Is it okay if I uncork bottle of the…”

“Yes, yes, I told you not to bother me with such trifles.” She looked back at Elsebet. “Sorry about him. Why don’t we talk somewhere else so he doesn’t interrupt us again, hmm?”

Elsebet nodded. “Of course.”

The Altmer led Elsebet to the other side of the room. “Before I read the guest list, I hadn’t heard your name before. Tell me, why were you on the list?”

On the way to Solitude, Delphine had prepped Elsebet with questions the Thalmor Ambassador would likely ask. She was suddenly glad for it.

“I don’t want this to be common knowledge, but…” Elsebet made a show of looking around the room to make sure no one was overhearing, and she leant in close and lowered her voice so only Elenwen could hear her, “I’m the Dragonborn.”

The Thalmor’s eyes widened, and her mouth almost dropped open. “Truly?”

Elsebet nodded. “Yes. And I’m the Thane of Whiterun, so I overheard Jarl Balgruuf talking about the party, and I just _had_ to be here and meet the woman that’s running the whole operation.”

Elenwen bowed her head slightly. “Well, you’re secret’s safe with me. I hope I see you at one of these parties again. I think we’ll be great friends.” She then looked her up and down. “Say, how old are you? You look young.”

“Nineteen,” she answered, confused as to why the Ambassador wanted to know. “I know I’m young, but this is my destiny. I can’t change it.”

Elenwen nodded. “Well, have fun.”

They parted ways, and Elsebet noticed the rest of the guests. There was Jarl Balgruuf the Greater and Proventus Avenicci, his steward, talking to Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone. There were other Jarls, as well, but she’d never met them before. She noticed Thane Erikur was flirting with the Bosmer servant near them, and shivered when she remembered he had flirted with her just several hours beforehand. There was another Thalmor official there, in the same hooded robes as the Thalmor Wizard outside the Embassy.

She walked over to Malborn and ordered a drink. He poured out a glass of Colovian Wine and whispered to her so no one could hear.

“I’ll be waiting by the door for everyone to be distracted,” he said, giving her a pointed look.

She nodded, and raised her cup to her lips, taking a sip. She turned around and eyed the guests, seeing who would give her the best distraction.

She saw the Redguard she’d met outside sulking on a bench, muttering something under his breath. He’d do well, if she gave him some wine. There was also the two Jarls she was Thane under; Balgruuf and Idgrod might, but she didn’t know. They weren’t likely to ruin their image. The Redguard it was.

She walked over to him and sat down next to him.

“What does a fellow need to do to get a drink around here?” He asked. He just when he saw her sitting next to him. “Ah, pardon me, friend. I didn’t see you there. Allow me to introduce myself: Razelan. Imports and exports, by trade. Observer of human nature, by avocation.”

“You look thirsty.”

“My friend, you are very perceptive! I have a powerful thirst that cannot be slaked! And none of the waiters will give me a drink. Elenwen must have told them to cut me off, the frigid bitch. Afraid I’ll cause another scene, I suppose…”

“Here,” Elsebet said, handing him her cup. “I’m too young to drink, anyway.” Not true, but she needed a reason to give it to him.

“Ah, the one generous soul amongst a bunch of pinch-pennies and lick-spittles!” He took the cup from her and took a swig. “Wait, you’re seventeen?”

“Eighteen next week, if you believe,” she said. “I’m only here because my father is a Thane of Whiterun, and he couldn’t make it.”

“Well I’m glad you did, otherwise I wouldn’t be having this.” He took another swig. “If there’s anything I can ever do for you, do not hesitate to call upon me!”

“Actually, there _is_ something you can do for me,” Elsebet said. She waved at Balgruuf as he passed, and he waved back.

“Wonderful!” Razelan cried. “I can begin to repay your generosity immediately. Say on, friend.”

Elsebet dropped her voice so only he could hear. “I need you to cause a scene. Get everyone’s attention for a few minutes.”

“Is that all?” He asked. “My friend, you’ve come to the right person. You could say that causing a scene is somewhat of a specialty of mine. Stand back and behold my handiwork.” He stood up and made his way to Elenwen. “Attention, everyone! Could I have your attention, please! I have an announcement to make.”

Surprisingly, everyone looked at him, with expressions ranging from annoyed to interested. Elsebet quickly made her way to where Malborn was waiting, and the two of them slipped into the backroom behind the bar.

Malborn shut the door behind them and let out a breath he was holding. “So far so good. Let’s hope nobody saw us slip out. We need to pass through the kitchen. Your gear is hidden in the larder. Just stay close and let me do the talking. Got it?”

Elsebet nodded, and Malborn opened the door leading to the kitchen.

“Who comes, Malborn?” A Khajiit woman asked. She was behind a bench, a butcher’s knife in hand as she cut up some venison. “You know I don’t like strange smells in my kitchen.”

“A guest, feeling ill,” the Bosmer said. “Just leave the poor wretch be.”

The Khajiit slammed the knife into the chopping board. “A guest? In the kitchens? You know this is against the rules…”

Malborn’s brow rose. “Rules, is it, Tsavani? I didn’t realise eating Moon Sugar was permitted. Perhaps I should ask the Ambassador…”

Tsavani hissed. “Get out of here, I saw nothing.”

Malborn nodded, and ushered Elsebet through to the larder. He closed it behind him and pointed to a chest resting in a corner.

“Your gear is in that chest. Go through there.” He pointed to the door opposite the chest. “I’ll lock the door behind you. _Don’t_ screw this up.”

Elsebet nodded, and took her weapons and several lockpicks out of the chest. She was glad to have them back. It felt weird without them. She went through the door and heard the lock click, meaning Malborn had done what he’d said he would. She let out a puff of air. There was no going back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you on Wednesday!


	23. There's a Lot of Thalmor Here

Elsebet quietly made her way to the closest door, which was open. She peeked through it and saw two Thalmor agents leaning against a bar, talking to each other.

“Did you see those robes march in this morning? Who’re they with? More of the Emissary’s treaty enforcers?”

“No,” the other one, a woman, told him. “They’re high mages, just in from Alinor. I guess Herself is finally worried about the dragon attacks.”

“Ah, good. I’ve been wondering how we’re supposed to defend this place from a dragon,” the first one said.

I they were controlling the dragons, the Embassy would be safe. Since they were just as worried as everyone else, it was safe to say that they weren’t involved with the dragons, but she had to make sure.

The woman spoke. “If a dragon does show up, maybe we’ll get lucky and it will eat the mages first. Might give us enough time to kill it.”

“Ha! I’d like to see those arrogant bastards taken down a notch. Always looking down their noses at us lowly footsloggers.” They both laughed. “Well, we’d better get back to our rounds.”

They got off the bar and walked in opposite directions; one up the stairs and one further into the building. Elsebet drew an arrow and placed it on her bow. She pulled back on the string and aimed at the still figure on the other end of the room. She let the arrow fly, and it hit the Thalmor in the neck, between where the helmet and the chestplate met.

The Thalmor that went up stairs came down, mace drawn. He ran over to his dead companion and looked around the room. He spotted her in the doorway, and started charging at her, but he fell down dead with an arrow in the face.

A Thalmor Wizard came into view from where the first Thalmor was headed. Lightning sparked up and down his arms, and he swore when he saw the two dead Thalmor. He cast a spell, and a cloak of lightning surrounded him, sparks jumping from the cloak to the furniture every now and then.

Elsebet knocked an arrow and shot it at the Wizard. It flew through the cloak, and it dissipated slightly when it hit his shoulder. Elsebet silently cursed herself. It was hard to see through the lightning, but she’d have to guess. The Wizard was currently kneeling, trying to get the arrow out of his shoulder, and he thudded to the ground with an arrow in his side. The cloak dissipated fully.

By the time Elsebet ran over to him, he’d already bled out on the floor.

She searched them for their gold and valuables and went the way the Wizard came from. He came from a hall, and she had an arrow resting on the string of her bow so she could quickly shoot at anyone that took her by surprise.

She found herself in front of a door, and she pushed it open to find herself in a courtyard. She crouched low and hid behind a wall on the walkway that surrounded the courtyard. A Thalmor in Light Elven armour rounded the walkway not far from her, and she shot him before he could see her. Luckily, he died quickly, and no one saw him fall. She was still safe.

She knocked another arrow and fired it at the closest patrol, which happened to be a wizard. It hit her in the throat, and she fell down, dead.

There were three patrols left; one Wizard, and two Soldiers—as Elsebet is now calling them—and she knocked an arrow and aimed it at the only Wizard left. It shot him in the knee, and he fell to the ground as he screamed in pain.

She was now in the open, and the two Soldiers in Light Elven armour turned to her, flames in their hands.

Elsebet shot an arrow at the downed Wizard, killing him instantly. He dropped the bow and drew her elven dagger as the two Soldiers charged towards her. The closest one set a jet of flames towards her, and she rolled out of the way. She got up and ducked as he swung his mace at her head. She descended the stairs and her shoes crunched on the freshly-fallen snow that was layered on the ground, and she jabbed her dagger at the Soldier’s neck. He staggered back and grabbed his neck, the blade having only scratched him.

The other Soldier, a woman, swung at her with her mace, but Elsebet ducked and the mace soared over her head and imbedded into the wall. She thrust the dagger in the spot between her chestplate and greaves. She left it in there and pulled her fist back and punched the other guy in the face, who was still assessing how back the wound on his neck was.

He arched backwards and fell onto the stairs as Elsebet pulled an arrow out of her quiver and stabbed him in the neck with it. She turned around and saw the Soldier she had stabbed with the dagger was now holding the blood-soaked blade, and had two weapons, now.

Elsebet raised her fists, assessing her surroundings. The Soldier in front of her had both a mace and a dagger, and the other one was dead at the Nord’s feet, his mace a few metres away. That wouldn’t work. There was a wall not far behind the Thalmor Soldier, and she had an idea.

“ _FUS RO DAH!_ ”

The Thalmor flew through the air and collided with the wall as Elsebet’s Thu’um guided her. She hit the wall head-first, and there was no way she’d survive that. Elsebet, panting but filled with adrenaline, walked over to where her dagger laid in the snow, red and golden against white, and picked it up. She wiped the blood off the blade using a her shirt and sheathed it, then went to where she dropped her bow and picked it up.

On the other side of the courtyard, near where one of the dead Wizards laid prone, there was a building, and Elsebet was surprised no one had heard her Thu’um. But maybe the buildings were soundproof, as she couldn’t hear the party that was happening in the building behind her, and the party had been loud.

She made her way to the building and entered, arrow resting on her bow and her crouching low, ready for what might happen on the other side of the door.

A Thalmor Soldier was doing patrols around the room, with a Wizard and Nord man talking about money. Before the Soldier could turn around and see her, Elsebet shot him with the arrow already knocked, killing the Thalmor and alerting the other two to her presence.

She knocked an arrow and shot the Wizard, and he was the more powerful of the two. She shot the Nord, who came at her with an iron dagger, and he fell to the ground dead. The Wizard, having just been shot in the stomach, pulled the arrow out of his stomach and went to heal it, but another arrow appeared in his chest, right where his heart was. He fell to the ground, and Elsebet stepped over him as he bled out, looking for information she could give Delphine.

There was a chest behind a desk, and Elsebet picked it open and searched through the contents. There were two dossiers, a key, and a note. She quickly scanned the note, confirming her suspicions about the Thalmor not controlling the dragons, and opened the two dossiers to see that one was about Delphine, and the other about Ulfric Stormcloak.

Was it coincidence, then, that Ulfric Stormcloak had shown up at the Temple of Talos while she was healing from the dragon bite?

She didn’t know what the key was for, but it would probably be useful, so she pocketed it and closed the chest. After a bit of searching, she found a study, and a set of stairs descending into a small room with a door. She went through the door, and crouched prone on the ground to see what was going on.

Where she lay, Elsebet was on a walkway above what looked like an interrogation chamber. There were three cages against a wall, with someone the closest one, though she was too far away to see who. There were two Thalmor Soldiers patrolling the room, stopping occasionally to shout slurs at the man in the cage.

Elsebet knocked an arrow and aimed at the closest Thalmor Soldier, who was currently standing in front of the cage with the man in and taunting him. He didn’t notice anything was wrong until he was lying on the floor, an arrow in his neck, dead.

The other Thalmor Soldier lit fire in one hand while drawing his mace, looking around the room to see where the arrow had come from. She waited until he was looking at her, and she let the arrow knocked in her bow fly and hit the man between the eyes.

She pulled her bow over her shoulder and made her way down to the lower level, where the dead Thalmor and the man in the cage were. She spotted a chest next to the cage, and she went over and opened it to find another dossier, this one on a man named Esbern.

She furrowed her brow. Who was Esbern?

She shook her head to clear it. This was probably all she was going to get from the Thalmor, since they were extremely secretive, and she needed to see why they were keeping that man in the cage.

She she stood up and rounded the cage, stopping at the door. She opened it, seeing as it wasn’t locked, and stepped inside. The man lifted his head, almost in defeat.

The man was blonde, and not much older than she was. Probably mid-twenties. His blue eyes were once most likely full of happiness, but there was only pain and sadness now. It broke Elsebet’s heart, and she’d only seen him for a second. He was shackled to the wall, arms out wide, and he was only wearing a pair of ragged trousers.

“I told you,” he said, “I don’t know anything else about it.”

She slowly approached him, and crouched down in front of him so they were eye level. “I’m not here to torture you,” she said.

“What? Who…” He grimaced slightly. “What do you want then?”

“No time to explain. Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah, sure, okay. The guards have keys to the shackles.”

She nodded at him in thanks and went over to the closest body. She searched it, and found a key in his pocket, as well as a small coinpurse. She went back into the cage and freed the man. He fell to the ground , then slowly pushed himself up. He had a lot of bruises and cuts on his body, too old for Elsebet to heal them, but she helped him up.

“Thanks,” he said. “The name’s Etienne Rarnis. Who’re you?”

“Elsebet,” she said. She thought for a second, then added, “Elsebet Dragonslayer.”

That was Nord custom, to have their last names be what they were. Elsebet really was a dragonslayer, and Delphine had put it on her invitation into the blasted Embassy.

He furrowed his brow. “Dragonslayer? That’s not possible. Dragons don’t exist.”

Elsebet eyed him for a second. “How long have you been here?”

“Since the eighteenth of Last Seed. Don’t know how long ago that was. It’s felt like an eternity.”

So, the Thalmor had had him since the day after dragons showed up. That would explain why he didn’t know dragons weren’t a myth.

“You’re in for a ride, buddy. Do you know a way out of here?”

Etienne nodded, and pointed to a trapdoor she hadn’t seen earlier. “That way. I’ve seen guards use it to get rid of bodies. It must lead somewhere.”

“Not so fast!”

Up on the balcony, where Elsebet entered the room, was Malborn surrounded by three Thalmor—two Soldiers and a Wizard. Malborn had his hands up in surrender, but the Thalmor’s eyes were bouncing around the room, meaning they didn’t know where she or Etienne were.

“We have your spy! Reveal yourself, and we’ll spare him!”

She drew her bow and knocked an arrow, aiming for the Wizard. They were more deadly than the Soldiers, as they were trained in a lot of magic, and it would be best for everyone—except the Wizard—if he died first. She exhaled, and let go of the string.

The arrow whizzed through the air, faster than she could blink, and hit the Wizard square in the chest, making her slump against the wall and slide down it. Elsebet could see she was still breathing—barely—and one of the Soldiers rushed to her, while the other unsheathed a dagger and held it to the side of Malborn’s neck—a horrible decision, really.

Elsebet shot him in the head, and he and the dagger fell to the ground. Before the last Thalmor could move, Malborn sprinted away from them and hurled himself down the stairs. The Soldier raised a hand to conjure up a fireball, but Elsebet nailed it to the wall with an arrow, then shot him in the neck. He didn’t collapse—he was held up by the arrows, and Elsebet knew that would scar whoever came in next.

One more arrow, and the Wizard was dead.

Malborn stormed up to her. “Now the Thalmor will be hunting me for the rest of my life! I hope it was worth it.”

Elsebet took the key she used to free Etienne out of her pocket and unlocked the trapdoor. She pocketed it again, and opened the trapdoor, and a foul smell wafted out of the cave.

Elsebet blocked her nose and turned to Etienne and Malborn. “I’ll go down first. I’ll call you if it’s clear. Do _not_ come after me if you hear fighting. You two are unarmed and you’re going to get hurt.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Malborn said.

Etienne nodded. “Good luck.”

She smiled at him and secured her bow to her back, then swung her legs into the hole in the ground and climbed down the ladder.

She soon heard the familiar grunt of a troll, and she swore. Loudly.

She pulled her bow off her back and knocked an arrow. She looked up, where Malborn and Etienne were looking down.

“Throw me a torch!” She yelled up.

Malborn scrambled to his feet and got the nearest torch from the wall, then dropped it down the hole when Elsebet was clear of it. She scooped it up, sent a thank you up, and made her way down the small tunnel.  
  
Sure enough, there was a troll on a lower level, where the only way to get to it was to drop down. She’d have an advantage for that, since she was sure trolls weren’t good climbers, and they couldn’t jump that high.

She put the torch in the ground, the flames burning brightly, and dipped the tip of her arrow in it. She then pulled the string back, and aimed for the troll, the end of the arrow burning with fire. She didn’t know if it’ll work, but she had to try. She’d read once that trolls were susceptible to fire, and she prayed to the gods for it to work.

The arrow sailed through the air, hitting the troll between the shoulder blades. It let out a cry, and around the arrow its skin started burning, until there was a rind a couple millimetres thick around the arrow.

Apparently, the gods were listening.

She pulled another arrow out of her quiver and set it alight in the torch as the troll turned around, its third eye rolling around in its skull. She knocked the arrow and aimed for the eye, then let the arrow soar. It hit its mark, and it fell down dead as its brain boiled.

“Okay!” She yelled behind her, standing up. “It’s clear!”

Etienne started climbing down as Elsebet jumped off the ledge and headed towards the troll. She almost threw up at the stench it let off, and something under the overhang caught her eye. She went towards it as Etienne jumped down from the ledge, and screamed at the dead frost troll’s body.

She found the dead body of a conjurer, judging by the robes she wore, and several small packs, as well as a box. She picked the box up and turned it over. it was a golden colour, and she opened the lid to find a pink crystal in it, floating and turning above the black satin that lined the inside of the box. She closed it, put it in her pocket, and placed the two small packs in her bigger pack. She’ll look through them when they get back to Solitude.

“Elsebet?” Malborn called. “Where are you?”

Elsebet stood up and went to them, scaring Malborn when she walked passed them. Etienne laughed at the Bosmer, then looked at the Nord.

“Where do we go now?” He asked.

She pointed to a tunnel. “The snow’s coming in from there.”

She led the way, not checking to see if her two companions were following. She heard their footsteps not far behind her, and she knew they were following her. About a minute later, they were out of the cave and in the cool Skyrim air.

It had started snowing while they were in the cave. The light snowfall was almost serene, and Elsebet watched as Etienne stared up at the sky, taking in the first breath of freedom in almost a month. Malborn looked glad he was still alive, but he didn’t thank Elsebet. Sure, she was the reason he almost died, but she still deserved a thanks.

She let it pass though, as a roar pierced the air, and she swore as Etienne and Malborn looked frightened.

“What was _that?_ ” Etienne asked.

“That,” Elsebet said, scanning the skies, “was a dragon. I hope it doesn’t attack, I don’t have the patience to fight it now.”

The Breton stared at her, slack jawed and eyes wide. “ _Dragon?_ ”

Elsebet nodded, letting out a sigh of relief when she realised it wasn’t near them. “Let’s get to Solitude. Delphine’s waiting there for the information I found.”

“You weren’t kidding about the whole Dragonslayer thing, were you?” Etienne asked, still staring at her.

Malborn looked at Etienne with a raised eyebrow. “She’s the Dragonborn.”

Etienne was speechless. “Truly?”

Elsebet nodded. “Yes. Come on,” she said, starting down the cobbled road towards Solitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone that has read it this far! I don't know how many of you are here, or how many stopped at chapter 1. I hope you all know that you're all very dear to me, since you're the ones that keep me writing.


	24. Bloody Thieves

When Elsebet, Etienne and Malborn got to Solitude, Elsebet led the way to The Winking Skeever, the inn she had first met Malborn in. She looked around the room, looking for Delphine, Lydia, and Risorallen, but she spotted Cyres first, dressed in Imperial armour and laughing with other Legionnaires. He spotted her, and waved her over.

“Hey, Elsebet,” he said, standing up as they got near. He looked at Etienne and Malborn. “Who’re your friends?”

Elsebet shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Where’s Risorallen and Lydia?”

“Upstairs, room three. They were going to stay with me, but they didn’t realise all I get is a bed and a cupboard, so I just paid for a room. Their friend, Delphine, is with them.” He looked her up and down. “Are you okay? They’re really anxious.”

She nodded. “I’m fine. I just want this day to end. See you later.”

“Yeah,” he said, and watched as they went upstairs.

Elsebet led the way to room three, though she had no idea where she was going. She’d only been there once, and she’d stayed on the ground floor with Malborn. But, eventually, she found it, and she knocked on the door.

Risorallen opened the door and ushered her in, Etienne and Malborn following her. Risorallen eyed them cautiously, but didn’t say anything because Elsebet looked comfortable around them and decided to give them a chance.

The room was large, obviously to accommodate three people. There were three double beds pushed against the back wall, with a bedside table in between each one. In the corner next to the door was a table with three chairs around it, with two bookcases side-to-side separating the table from the beds. In the other corner was a rug with a bench on top of it, as well as a wardrobe for them to put clothes in.

Lydia was lounging on the middle bed, out of her armour and in a green tunic, tan trousers and no shoes on her feet. She was a putting a book down next to her, and looked at her Thane, obviously going into protective Housecarl mode. Her weapons were resting against the bedside table, ready to be used at a moment’s notice.

Delphine had been pacing, still in her leather armour, across the room, obviously worried about Elsebet and Malborn and the mission. She looked over at them, and her face lit up when she saw Malborn.

“We just got news of a massacre at the Thalmor Embassy,” Risorallen said, closing the door. “We weren’t sure if you made it out or not.” He eyed Etienne and Malborn. “Who’re they?”

“Malborn and Etienne Rarnis,” Elsebet said, collapsing on the bed to the left of Lydia’s and taking off her shoes. “Malborn is Delphine’s contact, and Etienne was being held prisoner by the Thalmor.”

“You made it out alive, at least,” Delphine said, then turned to Elsebet. “Your… _staff_ is under that bed.” She obviously didn’t want to say that the Daedric Artefact she had gotten only hours earlier from the Daedric Prince of Madness was currently in the room, as that tended to freak people out. “I’m the only one that’s touched it, and I haven’t used it.”

Elsebet leant over the side of the bed and saw that the Wabbajack was indeed there. She then sat back up, deciding to leave it there for now. “Thanks.”

“Did you learn anything useful?”

Elsebet dug into her pack and pulled out the dossiers and the note she’d gathered from the Thalmor Embassy and held them out for Delphine. She went over and took them off of her, then walked over to the table and spread them out.

“The Thalmor know nothing about the dragons. Etienne was also getting tortured, but he hasn’t said why,” the redhead said. “I didn’t ask.”

“The Thalmor don’t know anything about the dragons?” Delphine asked, then shook her head. “That seems hard to believe. You sure about that?”

Elsebet nodded. “I read the note. They wouldn’t lie on official documents.”

“They’re looking for a man named Esbern,” Etienne said.

Delphine’s head whipped around so quickly she got whiplash. “Esbern? He’s alive? I thought the Thalmor must have gotten him years ago. That crazy old man…” She sighed. “Figures the Thalmor will be on his trail, though, if they were trying to find out what’s going on with the dragons.”

“What would the Thalmor want with Esbern?” Lydia asked.

Delphine rolled her eyes. “You mean aside from wanting to kill every Blade they can lay their hands on?” She sighed. “Esbern was one of the Blades archivists, back before the Thalmor smashed us during the Great War. He knew everything about the ancient dragonlore of the Blades. Obsessed with it, really. Nobody paid much attention back then. I guess he wasn’t as crazy as we all thought.”

“So the Thalmor think the Blades know something about the dragons…” Risorallen said, leaning back on the chair he pulled from the table.

Delphine let out a huff. “Ironic, right? Old enemies assume every calamity must be a plot by the other side… Even so, we’ve got to find Esbern before they do. He’ll know how to stop the dragons if anyone does. Do they know where he is?”

“Riften,” Etienne said. “Somewhere in the Ratway. That’s all I know.”

She turned back to Elsebet. “You better get to Riften. Talk to Brynjolf. He’s… well-connected.”

“He’s a bloody thief, that’s what he is,” Etienne said, drawing everyone’s attention. “He’s second-in-command of the Thieves Guild.”

“And how do you know this?” Risorallen asked.

The Breton pointed his thumb at himself. “I’m in the Guild.” He looked at Elsebet. “I’ll be able to get you to him, if he’s in the Cistern.”

Elsebet smiled at him. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” he said. “You saved my life. It’s the least I can do.”

Delphine nodded. “We have a plan, then. Good. You’ll head out tomorrow morning, I doubt the Thalmor will have found him by then. Oh, and when you find Esbern… if you think _I’m_ paranoid… you may have some trouble getting him to trust you. Just ask him where he was on the thirtieth of Frostfall. He’ll know what it means.”

* * *

 

Three days later, Lydia, Risorallen, Elsebet and Etienne dismounted their horses at the Riften stables. Delphine had gone back to Riverwood, and they’d all meet her there when they get Esbern—minus Etienne, of course. He was staying in Riften.

They went to walk through the main gates when one of the guards posted outside the city stopped them.

“Hold there,” he said. “Before I can let you in to Riften, you’ll have to pay the visitor’s tax.”

Etienne’s face scrunched up, then came to a realisation. He pushed back Risorallen, who glared at him, and stood in front of the guard, arms across his chest.

“I’m in the Thieves Guild,” he said, then jammed his thumb over his shoulder at Lydia, Risorallen and Elsebet. “They’re with me.”  


The guard nodded. “Of course. Just, let me unlock the gate.”

When he did unlock the gate, the four of them passed through without incident.

Risorallen eyed Etienne. “What was that about?”

The Breton jammed his hands into his pockets. “He’s one of the Guild’s. We’re in a pretty bad shape, so we’ve put a couple of our thieves into the City Guard to get more coin and scam people as they enter the city.” He paused for a second. “He’s not very bright.”

Elsebet snorted. “So, where’s Brynjolf?”

“Since it’s midday, he’ll be in the market trying to scam people with fake potions,” Etienne said.

Elsebet just looked at him. “Excuse me?”

“As I said,” he explained, “we’re in a bad shape. No one respects us anymore.”

“No one respects the College of Winterhold or the Dark Brotherhood, either,” Risorallen said.

Etienne gave him a look. “And they’re trying to gave footholds in Skyrim again, just like us. So, we’ll do what we have to to get our gold back. Well,” he added as an afterthought, “almost anything. We don’t murder. Not unless we have to.”

They got to the bustling Riften market, the stench of stagnant water in the air. The canal that ran the length of the port city ran under the market, and the water was still and stagnant and disgusting. Elsebet had never been to Riften before, but she’d heard that it used to be a favourite in Skyrim before the canal became neglected.

Etienne pointed them to a red-haired Nord, built like a bull. He was well over six foot, and his green eyes glinted deadly as he watched the crowd. He was wearing finery, but he looked extremely uncomfortable in it, like she did when she went into the Thalmor Embassy.

She wrapped her cloak around her and pulled the hood over her head as a bitter wind blew passed, bringing the promise of another cold winter. She approached him, and he looked at her curiously as he pocketed a coinpurse a man had given him for magical hair growth.

“Now, what do we have here?” He asked, his voice calm and lilting. “Here to buy some Hair R egrower?”

“Are you Brynjolf?” She asked.

His eyes narrowed, and he lowered the bottle he had previously been flaunting around. “Who wants to know?”

“A friend sent me.”

“You’re young, aren’t you?” He asked, looking her up and down. “Yes, I’m Brynjolf. What can I do for you?”

Elsebet placed her hand on her dagger, though the tall Nord couldn’t see as it was under her cloak. “I want information.”

Brynjolf chuckled. “Expecting it for free, eh? Sorry, no can do. But… I can give it to you, if you do something for me.”

“I have gold.”

He chuckled again. “I don’t want gold, lass.”

“That’s not what Etienne said.”

He blinked at her. “ _What?_ ”

A smirk appeared on her lips. “Etienne. He said your Guild’s in bad shape. You need all the gold you can get.” She unhooked the coinpurse she had measured out earlier and held it up. “Five hundred gold, and I get my information. Or, we both walk away, and I’ll get my information another way.”

“You know where Etienne is?” Brynjolf was still trying to process the fact that Etienne was still alive, and he’d tell a stranger about the Guild.

She nodded. “I do. How about this?” She hooked the coinpurse back to her belt. “Information for information. You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll tell you where Etienne is.”

“Deal.” That was quick. “What do you want to know?”

“I’m looking for an old man,” she said. “Some guy named Esbern, most likely hiding in the Ratway.”

Brynjolf nodded. “Aye, I know who you’re talking about. He’s hiding in the Warrens, just outside the Ragged Flagon. Paid a lot of gold to keep my mouth shut. Now,” he glared at Elsebet, “where’s Rarnis?”

She lifted her arm and pointed towards the Bee and Barb, where Etienne was chatting with Risorallen and Lydia.

Brynjolf’s eyes widened. “What? How?”

“The Thalmor were torturing him, wanting the information you just gave me.” She paused for a second. “I found him in their Embassy while I was looking for information about the dragon attacks. He’s in pretty bad shape, but he’ll bounce back.”

She looked over at the Breton, who was currently laughing at something Risorallen had said. With her eyes no longer in shadows, Brynjolf finally saw the colour of her eyes; one a dark brown, the other a bright blue.

She looked back at Brynjolf. “Thank you for the information.” She turned on her heel and made her way to her friends.

Etienne smiled at her as she neared. “Hey. What’d Brynjolf say?”

“Esbern is in the Ratway Warrens. Do you know where that is?”

He nodded. “Yup.” He jerked his head to the side and pushed himself off the wall. “Come on, I’ll lead you there.”

He started walking, and looked over his shoulder to see if they were following. Satisfied they were, he turned back around and made his way to the canal overhand, and where a set of wooden steps descended to the canal level. He then went down those stairs, earning looks of worry from his three companions.

The stagnant smell was pore potent down on the lower levels of the city, though that was to be expected. The stinky water was five feet from them, so there wasn’t really much air for it to dissipate before it reached them.

Etienne started down the winding canal. “The Ratway is a set of tunnels underneath the city,” Etienne explained as they walked. “Like any city, there are different sections. There’s the Ragged Flagon, where the Guild hangs out. The Cistern is the main headquarters of the Guild, though. The Flagon’s a tavern for thieves. Then, there’s the Warrens. That’s for beggars and the lowlifes of Riften, though you’ll see a few of them begging up in the marketplace.” He stopped in front of an iron gate. “Here’s the closest entrance to the Warrens.” He opened the gate and stepped inside, then opened the metal door a couple feet inside the gate.

Elsebet led with Etienne, bow drawn and arrow knocked just in case anyone decided to attack them, though she didn’t know why they would. They descended a small set of stairs that led to a small tunnel. At the end of the tunnel were two men, one with an orcish bow on his back, the other with a mace on his belt. They were talking, though not for long. When They saw the group of four, they drew there weapons and attacked.

Elsebet shot the archer before he could even draw his bow. The one with the mace raised it above his head, charging at them, but another arrow felled him halfway down the tunnel.

Etienne looked at the redheaded archer. “You’re really good with that bow.”

She smirked at him. “Thanks. Hold this.” She handed her bow to him, then took off her cloak. It was a lot warmer in the Ratways than out in the early autumn air. She then folded it up, put it in her pack, and took her bow back.

They moved forward, stepping over the bodies of the two bandits, and turned down another tunnel. They got to a drop, and Elsebet leant over to see if it was low enough to jump. On the other side of the room was a platform with a wooden bridge, but it was up so they couldn’t get over to the other side.

She gave her bow back to Etienne, as well as her quiver, and told him, Lydia, and Risorallen to stay there. She then crouched low and jumped off the edge, rolling as she landed. She rolled to her feet and looked up at the platform. She went around the side so she could see the edge of it without the bridge. There was also a wooden banister she didn’t see earlier.

She took a couple steps back, until her back hit the wall across from the platform, and she started running at the wall. She planted her foot on the stone and launched herself up, hand up so she could grab the edge. Her fingers curled around the edge, her other hand reaching for the bannister. She grabbed it and pulled herself over and onto the platform, with the help of her feet pushing her up.

“Who’s there?”

He head whipped up, and she saw a lowlife take an iron dagger off a bench in a small rectangle room connected to the platform. The Orc growled at her, and Elsebet pushed herself to her feet and unsheathed her own dagger. She waved it in front of her, taunting the Orc, and he charged at her.

She grinned, and sidestepped at the last minute. He slammed into the wooden bridge, and Elsebet shoved her dagger into his neck. She pulled it out, the blood gurgling as he fell. She wiped the blood off on his rough spun tunic, sheathed the dagger, and pulled the lever on the wall.

When the bridge lowered, she saw the wide eyes of Lydia, Risorallen, and Etienne, and three staring at the dead Orc at her feet. She rolled her eyes and motioned for them to cross, which they did. Etienne gave her back her bow and quiver, and she smiled gratefully at him.

“How far from here is the Ragged Flagon?” She asked.

Etienne pointed at a door on the other side of the room. “Just through there. Just passed that is the Warrens.”

He took the lead again, and marched to the door and pulled it open.

The Flagon was on the other side of the small cistern, a lot of it build on the wooden platform over the water in the middle of the room. There were several crates and a few people on it, talking and eating and drinking.

Etienne tapped Elsebet’s arm, then motioned for her to follow. The four of them made their way across the walkway around the pool in the middle of the room. Etienne nodded at a big buff man with sideburns as he passed, and the man grunted back. Elsebet raised an eyebrow as she passed, but didn’t say anything.

Somehow, Brynjolf was already in the Flagon, and wearing completely different clothes. He was out of his finery, and in a sort of leather garb she’d never seen before. It was black, with long sleeves, a bunch of buckles on the front (a bit more than Elsebet thought was needed) and a few small pouches. There were thick bracers on his forearm, and his boots went up to his knees, along with kneepads. He was sitting at the bar, a cup of mead in his hand.

“How in Oblivion did he get down here so fast?” Elsebet asked Etienne, making said redhead look up. “I was talking to him like five minutes ago.”

Etienne let out a chuckle as Brynjolf furrowed his brow. “He’s probably wondering why you’re here.” He pointed down a short corridor ending in a door. “The Warrens are through there. Never been in, and I have no weapons, so this is where I leave you. Besides,” he added, “I need to catch up with my fellow thieves. I’ve been gone for three weeks.” He pat Elsebet once on the shoulder, then went to the bar and sat down next to Brynjolf.

Elsebet, Lydia, and Risorallen ignored the stares of everyone else as they went to the door that would lead to the Warrens, Elsebet’s bow in her hand. She pulled an arrow out of her quiver as Risorallen opened the door, and pulled but on the string as she went through the doorway.

She was glad she did, because a Thalmor Wizard appeared a few metres away from her. She let the arrow fly, piercing the High Elf in the throat and he fell to the ground dead. She knocked another arrow and aimed it at a Thalmor Soldier on a lower level, who was running around trying to find a way up. She didn’t get far before she fell to the ground with an arrow through the heart.

Elsebet knocked another arrow as Lydia unsheathed her sword and Risorallen took his battleaxe of his back. They started towards the empty doorway on the opposite side of the room, and they inched across the walkway to get to it.

A Wizard came out of the tunnel, arms laced with lightning, and sent a bolt at Lydia. The Housecarl flew backwards, off the walkway and fell the three levels of the Warrens.

“ _Lydia!_ ”

Elsebet’s shriek filled the Warrens as Lydia landed, a sickening _crack_ echoing around the room. She wasn’t moving, wasn’t _breathing_.

She didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t. But Lydia laid at an awkward angle, one that didn’t seem natural.  
  
Elsebet screamed again and punched the Thalmor in the face.

Lydia was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Please don't kill me.
> 
> Also, I'm going to be posting a chapter on Christmas day and Boxing day, as my present to all of you! So, you'll be getting four chapters in four days! How awesome is that?


	25. Grief is a Horrendous Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating! I was down in Bunbury all week and we had no internet!

Before Elsebet knew what was going on, her Thu’um crawled up her throat, and burned at the back of her eyes. An unrelenting force flowed through her veins, and she screamed again as she let it leave her body and slam into the staggering Thalmor in front of her. He went flying into the wall behind him, his neck breaking on impact.

Fury filled Elsebet. She wanted revenge on every Thalmor in that gods-forsaken sewer. Risorallen took a step back, both sadness and fear filling him. Sadness, because he and Lydia had bonded during their time together without Elsebet. Fear, because the Nord in front of her was fuming.

She’d felt loss before, and she’d told Risorallen she never wanted to feel it again. And now, there she was, ready to annihilate everyone in the Ratway Warrens.

She stomped forward, her bow on her back and her sword in her hand. Risorallen didn’t want to get in the way, so he stayed several feet back as they went through the Warrens, Elsebet destroying everyone in her path.

She was grateful he stayed back. She didn’t want to hurt him.

Her rage stopped when she cut down the last enemy, a Khajiit woman that was no much to the fury of the Dragonborn. She breathed heavily, standing in the middle of a pile of bodies, several levels down from where Lydia was thrown off the side of the walkway. Lydia’s body was among the dead.

Elsebet fell to her knees, her sword clattering on the stone ground next to her. For the first time since he’d known her, she looked tired. She looked at the bodies surrounding her, not really seeing them. She sniffled as a tear fell down her cheek, and then she started crying.

It wasn’t as beautiful as people in books, who looked like gods and goddesses as the tears flowed down their cheeks, not making any noises. No, this was not that. Her face was scrunched up, her face red from exertion, ugly sobs escaping her throat as she bent over, her face almost touching the stone floor, tears staining her cheeks and the floor.

This wasn’t beautiful. This was real.

He made himself look away from her trembling body, to block out the heartbroken cries escaping Elsebet’s mouth. A few tears ran down his own cheeks, and he gasped slightly to try and stop himself crying. He couldn’t break down now, not while Elsebet was broken. He needed to be strong. For her.

She’d been through so much in three weeks. She’d killed dragons, survived through crypts full of undead, and became the legend she’d been told about as a child.

She was the Dragonborn, but she was only nineteen.

Not to mention, everyone expected her to be a man, clad in heavy armour as he saved the world. But, no. She was a woman, an archer, and couldn’t even lift Risorallen’s battleaxe properly. She wasn’t the hero everyone expected her to be.

So he let her cry. He let her grieve. Because Lydia wasn’t the first casualty of the battle against dragons.

Elsebet was.

He made his way over to her and sank to his knees next to her. He put a hand on her back, and she pushed herself off the floor and wrapped her arms around his torso. Her cries became muffled as she buried her head in his side, and he wrapped his own around around her shoulders.

And they sat there. He didn’t know how long for, but they sat there until Elsebet cried herself to sleep. And then, he sat there some more.

After what seemed like a couple hours, Elsebet stirred. Risorallen hadn’t moved the entire time she was asleep, letting her rest. She looked up at him groggily, the ends of her hair tickling her cheek. She looked around them, realising where they were.

“What?” She asked, sleep still in her voice. “What happened?”

“You happened,” Risorallen said, his eyes on Lydia’s body. She was still in the position she’d landed in, limbs bent and eyes wide opened. It was the first time he’d looked at it while Elsebet was asleep.

She looked at him again, tear stains on her cheeks and around her eyes. Her eyes were wide with sadness, obviously remembered why she massacred the Thalmor Agents before she bawled her eyes out. She pushed herself off of him and stood up slowly, her balance not entirely there, and refused to look at Lydia’s body as she passed, obviously wanted to finish the mission they’d started.

Risorallen stood up as well, wiping his eyes of the tears that were threatening to spill over again, and he had a proper look at Elsebet.

Her hair was wild. She was probably glad it was short, so she wouldn’t have to brush out all those knots. Tears stained her cheeks, blocking the freckles over the bridge of her nose. Her hide armour was not in the right place, but that was to be expected when you sleep in armour.

Risorallen expected he didn’t look much better.

He walked over to her, and smiled and her reassuringly. She smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. There was still sadness, but he expected no less. She was grieving. They both were.

They took the first step away from Lydia’s body together. They’d come back and get her once they got Esbern.

They went through the rest of the Warrens with no sign of more Thalmor. It was obvious they had arrived just before they did, and they didn’t get that far in. A couple minutes later, and they found themselves in front of a heavily-fortified metal door.

Elsebet raised a fist and knocked heavily on it, the sound echoing through the Warrens. There was a startled sound coming from the inside, then a clatter, then finally the slot on the door about eye level opened up, revealing the face of an old man.

“Go away!” He said.

“Esbern?” Elsebet asked, her throat still sore from crying. “Open the door. I’m a friend.”

The man’s eyes widened. “What?! No, that’s not me. I’m not Esbern.” Man, this guy was bad a lying. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The Thalmor have found you,” Elsebet said. “You need to get out of here.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, how reassuring! Most likely you’re with the Thalmor and this is just a trick to get me to open the door!”

“Delphine said to ‘remember the thirtieth of Frostfall’,” Risorallen said, fed up with the man’s nonsense.

Esbern leant back slightly, his mouth open in wonder. “Ah. Indeed, indeed. I do remember. Delphine really is alive, then? You’d better come in then and tell me how you found me and what you want.”

He closed the slot, and the sound of locks unlocking filled the air. The two of them stood there in silence for about a minute, when the door opened.

“Come in, come in! Make yourself at home!” He closed the door, and the duo saw the amount of locks Esbern used. “That’s better. Now we can talk.”

Delphine had been right; Esbern was a _lot_ more paranoid than she was.

“So, Delphine keeps up the fight, after all these years,” Esbern said, almost nostalgically. He then shook his head. “I thought she’d have realised it was hopeless by now. I tried to tell her, years ago…”

“What do you mean, ‘it’s hopeless’?” Elsebet asked him.

He furrowed his brow, a confused expression on his face. “Haven’t you figured it out? What more needs to happen before you all wake up and see what’s going on? Alduin has returned, just like the prophecy said.”

There was that name again. Alduin. The name had forced itself into her mind whenever she thought about the black dragon that had both destroyed Helgen and resurrected Sahloknir. That dragon had called it Alduin, as well.

But why did it keep coming up?

“The Dragon from the dawn of time, who devours the souls of the dead!” Esbern almost shouted. “No one can escape his hunger, here or the afterlife! Alduin will devour all things, and then the world will end. Nothing can stop him!”

Elsebet’s eyes widened. That’s why the name was so familiar, why it nagged a memory she didn’t remember. He was Alduin, the World Eater. The dragon from the time of the Dragon War, who disappeared as well as the dragons. And now that he was back, all the other dragons were, as well.

“I tried to tell them,” the old Blade continued. “They wouldn’t listen. Fools. It’s all come true… all I could do was watch our doom approach…”

“Alduin?” Risorallen asked, not connecting the dots. “The dragon that’s raising the others?”

“Yes! Yes! You know, but you refuse to understand!”

“I’m an Imperial, dude,” Risorallen said. “I wasn’t taught all this as a kid.”

Elsebet ignored him. “You’re talking about the literal end of the world?”

Esbern nodded. “Oh, yes. It’s all been foretold. The end has begun. Alduin has returned.” He shook his head and sighed. “Only a Dragonborn can stop him. But no Dragonborn has been known for centuries.”

Risorallen and Elsebet shared a look. How long had he been in the Warrens to not know that there was a Dragonborn walking amongst them? That the Dragonborn was right in front of him?

He sighed again, not noticing their look. “It seems the gods have grown tired of us. They’ve left us to our fate, as the plaything of Alduin the World-Eater.”

Elsebet looked back at the old man and smiled lightly. “It’s not hopeless, Esbern. I’m the Dragonborn.”

His eyes widened, his jaw going slack. He was like that for a few seconds before he shook his head and composed himself. “What? You’re… can it really be true? Dragonborn?”

“It’s true,” Risorallen said. “I’ve _seen_ her devour two,” he held up two fingers, “dragon souls in the time we’ve known each other.”

“Then… then there is hope! The gods have not abandoned us! We must… we must…” He went serious, all of a sudden. “We must go, quickly now. Take me to Delphine. We have much to discuss.”

* * *

 

Esbern wanted to go straight to Riverwood and get to Delphine, and Elsebet got his urgency, but there was something she and Risorallen had to do in Whiterun.

With the help of the Hall of the Dead in Riften, the two of them got a coffin for Lydia and transported her to Whiterun, where they were waiting for her.

The funeral was heartbreaking. Lydia had a lot of friends in the Whiterun guard, and even Cyres and Zedronymus came to the funeral, the former taking time off from the Legion to attend, with the latter shirking off his duties to another Companion, Skjor, while he attended. Delphine had been there, as well. They’d sent a letter while in Riverwood preparing her body for travel, telling her that Lydia had died and they were holding a funeral for her.

That night, they rode to Riverwood, Elsebet and Risorallen still grieving. Of course they were. Lydia had been their friend, though they didn’t fight much together, much to the Housecarl’s chagrin.

Elsebet couldn’t get the fact that she caused Lydia’s death out of her head. If she hadn’t become Thane, Lydia wouldn’t have been assigned to her, and the older Nord woman would still be alive.

Esbern used Lydia’s horse, Jana. The mare seemed to sense the mood of her owner’s friend; all four horses did, including Delphine’s.

When they were finally in the secret basement of the Sleeping Giant Inn, Esbern decided to explain everything.

“Now then,” Delphine said. “I assume you know about…”

Esbern nodded. “Oh yes! Dragonborn! Indeed, yes. This changes everything, of course. There is no time to lose. We must locate… let me show you…” He went through his pack, looking for something. “I know I had it here, somewhere…”

Delphine looked exasperated. “Esbern, what…”

“Give me… just a moment… Ah!” He pulled a book found in red leather out of his pack and placed it on the table in the middle of the room. He started flipping through it until he stopped at a page. “Here it is. Come, let me show you.”

No one moved, but Esbern didn’t notice as he started explaining.

“You see, right here. Sky Haven Temple, constructed around one of the main Akaviri military camps in the Reach, during their conquest of Skyrim.”

Delphine looked at Risorallen and Elsebet, pointing a finger at him. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

They shook their heads.

Esbern looked annoyed. “Shh! This is where they built Alduin’s Wall, to set in stone all their accumulated dragonlore. A hedge against the forgetfulness of centuries. A wise and foresighted policy, in the event. Despite the far-reaching fame of Alduin’s Wall at the time—one of the wonders of the ancient world—its location was lost.”

“Esbern,” Delphine said sternly. “What are you getting at?”

The old Blade looked at Delphine in surprise. “You mean… you don’t mean to say you haven’t heard of Alduin’s Wall? None of you?”

“I have,” Risorallen said, surprising everyone in the room. He elaborated. “My sister, Aletara, is a scholar at the College of Winterhold. With all the dragon stuff going around, she’s decided to do her next thesis on the history of dragons. And, since I’m the Dragonborn’s companion, she’s been sending me information she thought would be necessary. One of them is about Alduin’s Wall.”

Esbern looked impressed. Delphine rolled her eyes. “Let’s pretend we haven’t heard of it. What’s Alduin’s Wall and what does it have to do with stopping the dragons?”

“Alduin’s Wall was where the ancient Blades recorded all they knew about Alduin and his return. Part history, part prophecy. Its location has been lost for centuries, but I’ve found it again.” He shook his finger, a smirk on his face. “Not lost, you see, just forgotten. The Blades archives held so many secrets… I was only able to save a few scraps…” He looked wistful.

“So you think Alduin’s Wall will help us defeat Alduin?” Elsebet asked.

He looked uncertain. “Well, yes, but… there’s no guarantee, of course.”

“Sky Haven Temple it is, then,” Delphine said. She went and pat Esbern on the shoulder. “I knew you’d have something for us, Esbern.” She turned to Elsebet and Risorallen. “I know the area of the Reach Esbern’s talking about. Near what’s known as Karthspire, in the Karth River Canyon. Since it’s night, and we’ve all had a long day, what with Lydia’s funeral and all, we can head out tomorrow. You can take the room connected to here, on the house.” She smiled at them. “It’s the least I could do for what you’ve done already.”


	26. Cool Temp - Is That an Electric Sword?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I HAVE LITERALLY BEEN AWAY FROM MY MAC SINCE I POSTED THE LAST CHAPTER, AND IT'S THE ONLY DEVICE I HAVE WITH THE FIC ON IT!!!!!!!!! I PROMISE I WON'T DO IT AGAIN!!!!!!
> 
> Also, I'm lowering the amount of times I'm updating. I'm getting close to where I've stopped writing so to give myself some extra time I'm only updating on Wednesdays.
> 
> On another note: I'm seventeen now!!!! One more year until I'm officially an adult and able to drink (take that America)!!!

It took a day to get to Karthspire, and the sun hung low in the sky as they neared their destination. They’d stopped over in Rorikstead for a quick rest, and they’d gotten some information about the area they were headed.

Karthspire was now inhabited by Forsworn, and there were rumours about a black dragon flying over the camp recently. As in, the day before recently. They all swore under their breaths when they heard that.

It was evident that there were Forsworn. As they got close enough to see it, there were structures over the Karth River, where Karthwasten sat. And there was fire in the sky, a dragon flying over the Forsworn camp and attacking them. _Dovmeyzfiik_ , her mind told her.

“It’ll be easier if we just stay here and wait for either the dragon to kill the Forsworn or the Forsworn to kill the dragon,” Risorallen said.

They all agreed with him, so they hung back, praying to the gods that Dovmeyzfiik didn’t notice them.

Surprisingly, the dragon killed all the Forsworn—including a Hagraven—but it had sustained a lot of damage. It was bleeding was several places, and it landed heavily on the ground just outside the camp, near the entrance of Karthwasten. It didn’t look like it was going to fly again.

They all hopped off their horses and drew their weapons. Elsebet knocked an arrow, aiming for a scarlet part of it’s verdant hide. She exhaled, and let the arrow fly.

The dragon roared into the air, then set it’s gaze on her as her companions advanced, Esbern sending fireballs at it. Dovmeyzfiik opened his jaw.

“ _YUL TOR SHUL!_ ”

Esbern cast a ward, and it looked like he was struggling to keep it up. Elsebet knocked an arrow, aimed for the creature’s gaping maw, and let the arrow soar through the air.

The fire stopped suddenly, and Esbern dropped the ward. The four of them could see the blood splatter coming out of the dragon’s cheek, where Elsebet’s arrow pierced through the flesh inside the dragon’s hide and through it. It landed on the grass, and Elsebet sent another arrow at the dragon’s mouth. This time it shot through the back of its neck, and it fell heavily to the ground.

This time, when the dragon’s soul left the dragon and sank into Elsebet’s chest, she didn’t stumble or fall to the ground. She stood up straight as she let the ecstasy of a new soul fill her, and she could feel it swirl around inside her, mixing and playing with the soul of Sahloknir.

Esbern and Delphine stared at her as she put her bow on her back. Risorallen—having been there for three of her absorptions—sheathed his battleaxe, grumbling slightly about not being able to fight the dragon.

Shaking themselves out of their stupor, Delphine and Esbern caught up to where Elsebet and Risorallen were. They then entered Karthwasten as the sun dipped over the horizon, colouring the sky gold and purple.

Elsebet pulled her bow off her back as a Forsworn Briarheart stood up from the chair they were sitting in and lit their hands with flames. She shot his heart, the arrow catching the briarheart and ripping it from his open chest, and thudding into the wall behind him. The Briarheart fell down instantly, dead. The two other Forsworn were quickly dispatched of with a lightning spell and another arrow. Elsebet kept her tight grip on her bow as she searched the dead Forsworn and a chest for gold, ignoring the looks from Esbern and Delphine. When she got what she wanted, she headed down the tunnel connected to the room they were in, Risorallen, Esbern and Delphine following her.

She marched up a natural ramp and stopped when she stood in front of three pillars, a stone bridge up on the other side of the chasm so they can’t cross.

Delphine looked around the small platform they were on. “The bridge is up, and I can’t find anything to bring it down.” She nodded at the pillars. “These pillars must have something to do with it.”

Esbern nodded as he studied it. “Yes. These are Akaviri symbols. Let’s see…” He pointed to the first pillar and then the second one. “You have the symbol for ‘King’… and ‘Warrior’…” He pointed at the last pillar. “And of course the symbol for ‘Dragonborn’. That’s the one that seems to have a sort of arrow shape pointing downwards towards the bottom.”

Elsebet thought for a moment, before something clicked in her mind. She looked at Risorallen. “These look like the pillars in Bleak Falls Barrow.”

Risorallen blinked. “You’re right. Maybe they turn, too.”

Elsebet walked over to the first one, the one that depicted ‘King’, and turned it. The sound of stone scraping on stone echoed around the tall cavern, and she turned it once so it depicted ‘Dragonborn’. She turned the middle one so it matched, and the bridge went down and landed on the edge of the platform.

Esbern motioned her first. “Dragonborn, first.”

She mock-curtseyed, and he laughed as she passed him, her footsteps on the stone loud. She ended the tunnel at the end of the bridge and climbed up the small inclined. She stopped in her tracks as she turned, almost falling onto a set of pressure plates.

Esbern wedged himself in the gap next to the Dragonborn, studying the pressure plates.

“These are the same symbols as the ones on the pillars,” he said.

“There’s a path of the Dragonborn symbol leading through it,” Elsebet said, “towards the pull chain. Maybe that stops the trap.”

“By all means,” he said, waving his arm over the room.

Elsebet stopped herself from grumbling and slowly stepped on the pressure plate depicting Dragonborn, ready to jump off if anything happened. Nothing did, and she let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. She made her way through the maze of pressure plates, checking the one in front of her before stepping on it. Soon, she was in front of the pull chain, and she pulled it.

Nothing happened.

Holding her breath, she stood on the pressure plate depicting King. She breathed in when nothing happened, and motioned Esbern, Delphine and Risorallen over as she headed to the bridge near where she was standing.

Soon, all four of them were standing in from of a massive stone head carved into the wall, with a seal on the floor and a chest in front of it. Elsebet had already been through it, and she got a new sword—still steel, but less mangy—a staff and a few spell tomes she could sell to Farengar in Whiterun, and about a hundred gold pieces.

She could see the sky above them, the roof being open, and she saw stars as the sky slowly faded to black.

“Wonderful!” Esbern said, marvelling at the entrance to Sky Haven Temple. “Remarkably well-preserved, too.” He walked over to the seal on the floor. “Ah… here’s the ‘blood seal’. Another of the lost Akaviri arts. No doubt it’s triggered by… well, blood.” He looked over at Elsebet. “ _Your_ blood, Dragonborn.”

He then stepped away as Elsebet unsheathed her dagger and held it to her palm, going on about Reman Cyrodiil. She dragged the dagger along her palm, wincing at the pain, and held her hand out so the blood could spill on the blood seal.

It lit up as Risorallen produced a piece of linen from his pack and walked over to her. He bound her hand as the circles in the seal moved, making the Dragonborn symbol. The massive carved head lifted up, revealing a staircase with a door at the end.

Sky Haven Temple was just through there.

“You did it! There’s the entrance!” Delphine shouted. “After you, Dragonborn. You should have the honour of being the first to step into Sky Haven Temple.”

Esbern pulled an unlit torch out of his pack. He clicked his fingers, and the end burst with light, the fire crackling. He got out three more and did the same, then handed them to Risorallen, Elsebet, and Delphine.

Elsebet nodded to Delphine and stepped forward, torch in hand. The head became more massive as she passed under it and up the stairs. She pushed open the door at the end, and she entered Sky Haven Temple.

Elsebet didn’t really pay attention to what Esbern was going on about as they walked up the stairs.From what she gathered of it, he was talking about the architecture of the place. She and Risorallen shared an equally bored look.

When they finally got to the top of the staircase, the small tunnel opened up into a massive chamber, with raised ceilings. There was a long, stone table in the middle of the chamber, spanning almost the whole length. There was a doorway to the left, leading off somewhere, and a wall with carvings on it to the right.

Alduin’s Wall.

Esbern gasped. “Shor’s bones! Here it is! Alduin’s Wall… it’s so well preserved… I’ve never seen a finer sample of early second era Akaviri sculptural relief.” The four of them made their way to it.

Delphine rolled her eyes. “Esbern. We need information, not a lecture on art history.”  
  
“Yes, yes…” the old Blade said, reaching out and touching the Wall as Delphine lit the braziers on either side. “Let’s see what we have.”

He walked over to the leftmost part of the Wall. “Look, here is Alduin!” He pointed to a dragon carved into the Wall. “This panel goes back to the beginning of time, when Alduin and the Dragon Cult ruled over Skyrim.” He moved down the Wall a little, and pointed to a bunch of men with weapons. “Here, the humans rebel against their dragon overlords—the legendary Dragon War. Alduin’s defeat is the centre of the Wall. You see, here he is falling from the sky. The Nord Tongues—masters of the Voice—are arraying against him.”

“So does it show how they defeated him?” Delphine asked. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

“Patience, my dear,” Esbern said. “The Akaviri were not a straightforward people. Everything is couched in allegory and mythic symbolism.” He saw something, because he let out an excited gasp. “Yes, yes. This here, coming from the mouths of the Nord heroes—this is the Akaviri symbol for ‘Shout’. But, there’s no way to know what Shout is meant.”

Delphine raised her brow. “You mean they used a _Shout_ to defeat Alduin? You’re sure?”

He nodded. “Oh, yes. Presumably something specific to dragons, or even Alduin himself. Remember, this is where they recorded all they knew about Alduin and his return.”

“So we’re looking for a Shout then?” The Breton sighed angrily. “Damn it.” She looked at Elsebet. “Have you ever heard of such a thing? A Shout that can knock a dragon out of the sky?”

Elsebet shook her head. “No. The Greybeards might know, though.”

“You’re probably right.” She sighed. “I was hoping to avoid having to involve them in this, but it seems we have no choice.”

Risorallen scrunched up his face in confusion. “What do you have against the Greybeards?”

“If they had their way, you’d do nothing but sit up on their mountain and talk to the sky, or whatever it is they do. The Greybeards are so afraid of power that they won’t use it. Think about it. Have they tried to stop the civil war, or done anything about Alduin? No. And they’re afraid of you, of your power.” Delphine shook her head. “Trust me, there’s no need to be afraid. Think of Tiber Septim. Do you think he’d have founded the Empire if he’d listened to the Greybeards?”

“Don’t worry,” Elsebet said, “I’m not afraid of my own power.”

The Breton nodded. “Good. The Greybeards can teach you a lot, but don’t let them turn you away from your destiny. You’re Dragonborn, and you’re the only one who can stop Alduin. Don’t forget it.”

Elsebet nodded. “I’d better go see what Arngeir knows about this Shout.”

She nodded back. “Right. Good thing they’ve already let you into their little cult. Not likely they’d help Esbern or me if we came calling.” She put a hand on Esbern’s shoulder, which caused the old man to jump. “We’ll look around Sky Haven Temple and see what the old Blades might have left for us. It’s a better hideout than I could have hoped for. Talos guard you.”

Elsebet turned to leave, but she stopped when she heard Esbern call her name.

“What is it?” She asked him.

“I read in a book, I forgot the title, that there’s a weapon the Blades made specifically for dragons. It should be somewhere here.”

“Great!” She said. “Let’s look for it now.”

Esbern nodded, and they began scouring the Temple for the sword. Elsebet headed to the doorway she’d seen when she first entered the Temple. Luck was on her side, was a Blades sword was lying on a table in the small room, sparks seeming to jump from the blade. On the blade was a word, written in the dragon language; _Dovahfeyn_.

“Dragonbane,” she muttered to herself, not sure how she knew what it said.

Its scabbard was sitting next to it, and Elsebet picked both of them up. She slid Dragonbane into the scabbard then secured it to her waist, taking off her steel sword in the process She put it on the table, then leant out the room and yelled at Risorallen and Esbern that she’d found the sword.

As she waited for them to get to her, she looked around the small room. There was a weapon rack on the left wall, full of Blades swords that weren’t enchanted. There was also a mannequin wearing Blades armour, with more sets folded up on the table Dragonbane had been on.

She picked one of the sets of armour up to weigh it as Risorallen and Esbern came into the room.

“So, where is it?” Esbern said, excited.

Elsebet placed the armour back down and unsheathed Dragonbane. She held the blade out for her two companions to look it over, then sheathed it again and looked at the armour.

“Did the Blades have any light armour?” She asked the Blade. “I’m not really a heavy armour time of girl.”

Esbern thought for a second, then let out an “Ah ha!” He looked around the room, spotted what he was looking for, and pulled a chest out from beneath the table. He opened it, revealing more Blades armour, these ones looking lighter.

When Elsebet picked one up, she could tell it was significantly lighter. She smiled at Esbern. “Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to change.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I am so sorry for not updating, but I'll see you next Wednesday.


	27. That's a Bloody Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Elsebet and Risorallen finally meet Paarthurnax in this chapter! Hope you enjoy!

Elsebet and Risorallen spent the night at Sky Haven Temple before setting out for High Hrothgar just before dawn. They arrived at Ivarstead just after sunset, so they rented a room at the Vilemyr Inn.

The innkeeper remarked that they’d been there a lot, but they ignored him and went to the room they rented. The next morning, the two of them headed up the mountain for the third time.

When Master Arngeir saw Risorallen, his face went sour, but didn’t say anything to him and instead looked at Elsebet.   


“I need to learn a Shout to defeat Alduin,” Elsebet said, not letting the Greybeard speak.

Master Arngeir went serious. “Where did you learn of that? Who have you been talking to?”

“It was recorded on Alduin’s Wall.”

The Greybeard rolled his eyes. “The Blades! Of course. They specialise in meddling in matters they barely understand. Their reckless arrogance knows no bounds. They have always sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom.” He went angry, suddenly. “Have you learned nothing from us? Would you simply be a tool in the hands of the Blades, to be used for their own purpose?”

It was Elsebet’s turn to be angry. “No,” she said, “I haven’t learned anything from you, because you haven’t taught me _anything_. All you’ve given me is riddles and tests and three Words of Power. That’s it. I didn’t even know about the Blades until Delphine came to me.” She decided not to tell him that Delphine had taken the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller from Ustengrav. That was something that would do more harm than good if it came into the light. “At least the Blades aren’t keeping secrets from me.”

“Do not be so sure about that,” Master Arngeir said, his voice back to normal. “Beware—the Blades may claim to serve the Dragonborn, but they do not. They never have. As for me, I kept from you only what you were not yet ready to know. Are still not ready to know, as your question reveals.”

“So you won’t help me?”

He shook his head. “No. Not now. Not until you are ready to return to the path of wisdom.”

He then went to walk away. Risorallen opened his mouth to yell at the old man, but another Greybeard, Master Einarth, walked up to Master Arngeir, and spoke to him in the dragon language.

“ _Arngeir_. _Rok los Dovahkiin, Strundu’ul. Rok fen tinvaak Paarthurnax._ ”

Paarthurnax. That was the name of a dragon, she was sure of it. The unused dragon souls inside her swirled around, cowering at the name. Whoever Paarthurnax was, he was very powerful.

“Dragonborn, wait…” Master Arngeir said, sighing in resignation. He looked at her. “Forgive me. I was… intemperate. I allowed my emotions to cloud my judgement. Master Einarth reminded me of my duty. The decision whether or not to help you is not mine to make.”

“So, you can teach me this Shout?” Elsebet asked, her hopes raising.

He shook his head, and her hopes fell again. “No. I cannot teach it to you because I do not know it. It is called ‘Dragonrend’, but its Words of Power are unknown to us. We do not regret this loss. Dragonrend holds no place within the Way of the Voice.”

“If the Shout is lost, how can I defeat Alduin?” Elsebet said, sadness fulling her voice.

“Only Paarthurnax, the master of our order, can answer that question, if he so chooses.”

“Who is Paarthurnax?” Risorallen asked.

“He is our leader,” the Greybeard answered. “He surpasses us all with his mastery of the Way of the Voice.”

Elsebet furrowed her brow. “Why haven’t I met Paarthurnax yet?”

“He lives in seclusion, at the very peak of the mountain. He speaks to us only rarely, and never to outsiders. Being allowed to see him is a great privilege.”

“How do we get to the top of the mountain to see him?”

He sighed. “Only those whose Voice is strong can find a path. Come. We will teach you a Shout to open the way to Paarthurnax.”

He led the way to the courtyard, where Elsebet had been taught the Whirlwind Sprint Shout just three weeks before.

It had been exactly a month since Alduin had attacked Helgen, on the seventeenth of Last Seed. Now, on the seventeenth of Hearthfire, she was well on her way to figuring out a way to destroy the dragon that ruined her life. It had only been a month, but she’d gone so far.

They stopped on a stone platform, at the top of a set of stairs on the other side of the courtyard where the massive gate was. In front of them was a wall of wind, blowing harshly down the side of the Throat of the World.

“The path to Paarthurnax lies through this gate,” Master Arngeir said, his beard being thrown everywhere in the wind. If they weren’t in such a serious situation, Elsebet would have laughed. “I will show you how to open the way.”

He said three Words, three carvings appearing on the ground. They started glowing, letting off an orange light that swirled in the air, collecting slightly before rushing over to Elsebet, circling her and entering her chest at the same time.

The dragon souls of Sahloknir and Dovmeyzfiik inside her went towards the Words hungrily, but Elsebet stopped them. No doubt Master Arngeir will give her his knowledge of the Words of Power he just gave her.

“I will grant you my understanding of Clear Skies. This is your final gift from us, Dragonborn. Use it well.”

Sure enough, a white light came out of Arngeir, much like a dragon did once she killed it, and rushed towards her. When the light died out, the souls inside her screaming to be used, she felt the power Master Arngeir had given her, and she understood why he didn’t give it to her. That didn’t mean she didn’t like it, though.

She turned around and headed up the stone steps to the whirling wind, her hair and cloak blowing around. She was glad she cut her hair short; it would’ve been a pain to walk around with her hair flapping everywhere.

She closed her eyes, summoning her Thu’um. The Words of Power rose in her throat, burning the back of her eyelids, and her eyes opened wide.

Bracing her foot behind her, she let out her Shout.   


“ _LOK VAH KOOR!_ ”

Her Thu’um shook the mountain, causing her and Risorallen to stumble. The wind in front off her stopped, her cloak stopped billowing, and she could see where the path turned. The two companions looked at each other, then straight ahead and started walking.

It continued like that—Elsebet Shouting at the wind whenever it started getting worse than a slight breeze, then them climbing up the path cut into the mountain—until they got to the peak. Elsebet looked out on the horizon, the sun blazing down on her, and she saw Ivarstead at the base of the mountain, all other mountains far below her.

There was a roar in the sky, and a whitish-grey dragon flew over the peak of the mountain, over a broken Word Wall she hadn’t seen before, and landed in front of the two mortals, who had taken their weapons out at the first roar.

A name forced itself into Elsebet’s mind; _Paarthurnax_.

So, he was a dragon.

“ _Drem Yol Lok,_ ” he said in the ancient tongue of the dragons, his voice slow and deep. “Greetings, _wunduniik_. I am Paarthurnax. What brings you to my _strunmah_ … my mountain?”

Risorallen looked like he was going to shit himself when he heard the dragon talk. He looked at Elsebet, who was sheathing Dragonbane in its scabbard, panic on his face, before slowly putting his battleaxe back on his back. He still looked uneasy, though, and he looked like he was ready to take out his weapon at a moment’s notice.

“I think you already know who I am,” Elsebet said, not at all fazed that she was currently talking to a dragon.

“Yes. _Vahzah_. You speak true, Dovahkiin. Forgive me. It has been too long since I held tinvaak with a stranger. I gave into the temptation to prolong our speech.”

“Why live on a mountain alone if you love conversation?” Risorallen asked, still looking slightly scared, but he knew that Paarthurnax wasn’t going to eat them.

The dragon turned his gaze on the Imperial, causing him to take a step back. Paarthurnax, though, didn’t seem fazed.

“ _Evenaar Bahlok._ There are many hungers it is better to deny than to feed. _Dreh ni nahkip._ Discipline of the lesser aids in _qahnaar_ … denial of the greater.” He looked back at Elsebet, and Risorallen physically became calmer. “Tell me. Why have you come here, _volaan?_ Why do you intrude on my meditation?”

“I need to learn the Dragonrend Shout. Can you teach me?” She asked.

Paarthurnax hummed. “ _Drem_. Patience. There are formalities which must be observed, at the meeting of two of the dov.” He turned so he was facing the broken Word Wall. “By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Here my Thu’um! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you truly are Dovahkiin!”

He opened his maw, speaking the Words of Fire Breath, and a stream of fire tore out of his mouth towards the Word Wall. When the fire stopped, a Word was now carved into the stone, much like how the Greybeards gave her new Shouts.

“The Word calls you. Go to it.”

He was right. The Word, much like all other Words, called to her, calling her forward. It wanted to be known, wanted to be _used_ , much like the two souls within her. She let the call carry her forward, forward until she was standing in front of the Word, and she lifted her arm. Her fingers grazed the carved letters, and they started glowing much like they did all the other times. The light surrounded her, engulfing her in heat like fire before sinking into her chest.

“A gift, Dovahkiin. _Yol_. Understand Fire as the Dov do.” Paarthurnax started secreting a white light, and it rushed over to her and sunk into her skin, giving breath to the newfound fire within her. “Now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as mortal, but as dovah!”

She let her new Shout burn through her veins, so it could become familiar with her body. The Word burned the back of her eyelids, climbing up her throat, begging to be used.

“ _YOL!_ ”

The jet of flames she had seen so many times come from dragons erupted in front of her, this time from her mouth. It stung, it _burned_ , but power coursed through her body, her veins, her _soul_ , and she wanted to Shout again.

She finally understood what the Greybeards were so afraid of.

“Aaah… yes!” Paarthurnax said. “ _Sossedov los mul!_ The dragonblood runs strong in you. It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind.” He seemed to sigh. “So. You have made your way here, to me. No easy task for a _joor…_ mortal. Even one of _Dovah Sos_. Dragonblood. What would you ask of me?”

“Can you teach me the Dragonrend Shout?” She asked, still high on the power of Fire.

He nodded his head once, slowly, and surprisingly graceful for a dragon. “Ah. I have expected you. _Prodah_. You would not come all this way for tinvaak with an old dovah. No. You seek a weapon against Alduin.”

“The Greybeards didn’t want me to come at all.”

He smiled. “Hmm. Yes. They are very protective of me. _Bahlaan fahdonne_. But I do not know the Thu’um you seek. _Krosis_. It cannot be known to me. Your kind— _joorre_ —mortals—created is as a weapon against the dov… the dragons. Our _hadrimme_ , our minds cannot even… comprehend its concepts.”

Her hopes fell, and she shot a glance at Risorallen—who looked a bit more comfortable around the old dragon—who looked just as hopeless as she did.

This hopelessness transferred into her voice. “How can I learn it, then?”

“ _Drem_. All in good time. First, a question for you. Why do you want to learn this Thu’um?”

“I need to stop Alduin,” she said, fixing her gaze back on the dragon.

“Yes. Alduin… _zeymah_. The elder brother.” This made both Risorallen’s and Elsebet’s brows raise. Paarthurnax either didn’t see or ignored it, and continued speaking in his deep, calming voice. “Gifted, grasping and troublesome as is often the case with firstborn. But why? Why must you stop Alduin?”

“I like this world. I don’t want it to end.”

“ _Pruzah_. As good a reason as any. There are many who feel as you do, although not all. Some would say that all things must end, so that the next must come to pass. Perhaps this world is just the Egg of the next _kalpa? Lein vokiin?_ Would you stop the next world from being born?”

“The next world will have to take care of itself.”

She knew she sounded selfish and stubborn, but she had not gone all this way just to give up and let Alduin destroy the world, all so the next world could live. What about this world? What about the people on it? Did they not matter? Did they not have a right to live?

“ _Paaz_. A fair answer. _Ro fus…_ maybe you only balance the forces that work to quicken the end of this world. Even we who ride the currents of Time cannot see past Time’s end… _Wuldsetiid los tahrodiis_. Those who try to hasten the end, may delay it. Those who work to delay the end, may bring it closer.

“But you have indulged my weakness for speech long enough. _Krosis_. Now I will answer your question. Do you know why I live here, at the peak of the _Monahven_ —what you name Throat of the World?”

A flicker of anger lit inside her, but she pushed it down. “I thought you were going to answer my question.”

“ _Drem_. Patience. I am answering, in my way. This is the most sacred mountain in Skyrim. Most Sacred Mountain. The great mountain of the world. Here the ancient Tongues, the first mortal masters of the Voice, brought Alduin to battle and defeated him.”

“Using the Dragonrend Shout, right?” Risorallen asked.

The ancient dragon hummed. “Yes and no. _Viik nuz ni kron._ Alduin was never truly defeated, either. If he was, you would not be here today, seeking to… defeat him. The Nords of those days used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple Alduin. But this was not enough. _Ok mulaag unslaad._ It was the _Kel_ —the Elder Scroll. They used it to… cast him adrift on the currents of Time.”

Elsebet furrowed her brow. “An Elder Scroll? What’s that?”

“Hmm. How to explain in your tongue? The dov have words for such things that joorre do not. It is… an artefact from outside time. It does not exist, yet it has always existed. _Rah wahlaan_. They are… hmm… fragments of creation. The _Kelle…_ Elder Scrolls, as you name them, they have often been used for prophecy. Yes, your prophecy comes from an Elder Scroll. But this is only a small fraction of their power. _Zofaas suleyk._ ”

“Are you saying,” Risorallen said, trying to wrap his head around everything, “that the ancient Nords sent Alduin forward in time?”

“Not intentionally. Some hoped he would be gone forever, forever lost. _Meyye_. I knew better. _Tiid bo amativ_. Time flows ever onward. One day he would surface. Which is why I have lived here. For thousands of your mortal years I have waited. I knew where he would emerge but not when.”

Elsebet shook her head, the information overload frying her brain. “How does any of this help me?”

“ _Tiid krent_. Time was… shattered here, because of what the ancient Nords did to Alduin. If you brought that _Kel_ , that Elder Scroll back here… to the _Tiid-Ahraan_ , the Time-Wound… With the Elder Scroll that was used to break Time, you may be able to… cast yourself back. To the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonrend from those who created it.”

“Do you know where I can find an Elder Scroll?”

He shook his head. “ _Krosis_. No. I know little of what has passed below in the long years I have lived here. You are more likely better informed than I.”

She put a hand to her chin and hummed. “Esbern or Arngeir might have some idea.”

“Trust your instincts, Dovahkiin. Your blood will show you the way.”

“What do I do with the Elder Scroll once I’ve found it?” She asked. It was better she asked while she was still on the bloody mountain.

“Return it here, to the _Tiid-Ahraan_. Then… _Kelle vomindok_. Nothing is certain in such things… But I believe the Scroll’s bond with the _Tiid-Ahraan_ will allow you a… a seeing, a vision of the moment of its creation. Then you will feel—know—Dragonrend, in the power of its first expression. You will see them… _wuth fadonne_ —Hakon, Gormlaith, Felldir.”

“Who’re they?” Risorallen asked.

“The first mortals that I taught the Thu’um,” Paarthurnax explained, somehow looking wistful. “The first Tongues. The leaders against the rebellion against Alduin. They were mighty, in their day. Even to attempt to defeat Alduin… _sahrot hunne_. The Nords have had many heroes since, but none greater.”

Elsebet could tell he really cared about them, but the way he spoke about them. He probably missed them a lot.

“How could an Elder Scroll cast Alduin through time?” Risorallen asked.

“ _Vomidok_. I do not know. Perhaps in the very doing they erased the knowing of it from Time itself. The dov are children of Akatosh. Thus we are specially… attuned to the flow of Time itself. Perhaps also uniquely vulnerable. I warned them against such a rash action. Not even I could foresee its consequences. _Nus ni hon_. They would not listen.”

“You mean you were there?”

Paarthurnax nodded. “Yes. There were few of us that rebelled against Alduin’s _thur_ … his tyranny. We aided the humans in his overthrow. But they did not trust us. _Ni ov_. Their inner councils were kept hidden from us. I was far from here on the day of Alduin’s downfall. But all dov felt the… sundering of Time itself.”

Elsebet nodded. Then a thought came to her. “What does the Dragonrend Shout actually _do?_ ”

“I cannot tell you in detail,” he answered solemnly. “I never heard it used. _Kogaan_. It was the first Thu’um created solely by mortals. It was said to force a dragon to experience Mortality. A truly _vonmindoraan_ … incomprehensible idea to the immortal dov.”

“We should be going,” she said, her hand resting on the pommel of Dragonbane. She bowed her head. “Thank you, Paarthurnax.”

“ _Su’um ahrk morah,_ Dovahkiin and _zeymahzin_. We will meet again soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next week and please don't forget to kudos!


	28. Winterhold, Here We Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was tossing and turning deciding whether or not to update today or not, seeing as how I told you guys I wasn't going to update, but I have some big news that you guys are gonna love:
> 
> I FINISHED THE STORY!!!!!!
> 
> That's right, the story is completed, all that I need to do is update it. I've started the sequel, too, so there's a lot more content for you guys!
> 
> At the end I'll tell you the stats of the story!
> 
> Also! This is the longest chapter in the story, with over 4000 words!

“So… you spoke to Paarthurnax,” Master Arngeir said, standing from where he was meditating. 

Elsebet and Risorallen had decided to just go to the Greybeards, because they were closer. But, they were going to send a letter to Delphine and Esbern once they knew where it was. 

“The dragonblood burns bright within you. Did he teach you what you wanted to know? Did he teach you the Dragonrend Shout?”

The redheaded Nord shook her head. “No, but he told me how to find it.”

Master Arngeir sighed, and when he spoke, there was resignation in his voice. “So be it. If he believes it necessary for you to learn this… we will bow to his wisdom.”

“I need the Elder Scroll the ancients used,” she said, startling the spokesperson of the Greybeards. “Do you know where it is?”

“We have never concerned ourselves with the Scrolls. The gods themselves would rightly fear to tamper with such things. As for where to find it… such blasphemies have always been the stock in trade of the mages of Winterhold. They may be able to tell you something about the Elder Scroll you seek.”

He then sat down and started meditating again. It was obvious the conversation was over.

Risorallen and Elsebet started walking away, the latter cursing herself in her mind. Why did it have to be Winterhold? She hadn’t been there since she bid her family goodbye over a month before, on her nineteenth birthday, in search of adventure.

Well, she got it. She was now the Dragonborn of legend, and was currently searching for an Elder Scroll so she could learn the same Shout used to defeat Alduin the first time.

“How long has it been since you’ve been home?” Risorallen asked as they left the monastery. He glanced over at her, the air chilly.

She sighed, pulling her crimson cloak out of her pack as snow started to fall. “Just over a month. I left on my nineteenth birthday, which was three days before Helgen. Four before I met you.”

He watched as she pulled her cloak over her shoulders, completely covering the Blades Armour she was wearing. It offered a lot more protection than the hide armour she had taken off that dead bandit their first day together. She was so young, and she’d already done so much. She still had acne dotting her jaw and forehead from puberty, though they didn’t seem to bother her as much as they did Risorallen when he was her age.

“Do they know about you?"

She shook her head, pulling her hood over her head. “Of course not.” She sighed. “I don’t know what to say to them. Part of me wants to tell them, but the other part of me wants to keep it a secret, keep as many people out of the loop as possible, especially after…” She trailed off and took a shaky breath.

She was talking about Lydia. He knew she was.

They didn’t say anything for the remainder of their journey down the Throat of the World—the _Monahven_ , as Paarthurnax had called it. The sun was setting, and they passed their horses and entered Vilemyr Inn. They entered the room they had rented the night before, and Elsebet asked for a piece of parchment and a quill from the innkeeper. He gave it to her, she thanked him, and she started writing a letter to Delphine and Esbern.

Delphine had said that she would be going to Markarth once a week, to both get fresh food and to get any letters that were sent to either her or Esbern. She didn’t say when she’d be going, though. She had told Elsebet and Risorallen to write to her under the pen name Dabnie, and that she’d only be accepting letters with that name on it.

Elsebet dipped the quill in the inkpot she was also given and started writing.

_Dabnie,_

_I know what the Shout depicted on Alduin’s Wall is. It’s called Dragonrend and, according to the leader of the Greybeards, it forces dragons to feel mortality. No one knows the Shout though, so they can’t teach me._

_I have to go to the College of Winterhold to see if they have an Elder Scroll. It’s the only way I can get the Shout. I’ll explain it in more detail next time we’re face-to-face. What I can tell you now is that it was used to defeat Alduin last time by the ancient Nord heroes._

_I’ll see you soon._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Elsebet_

She dropped her quill and read over her letter. She then nodded and folded it up, then wrote _Dabnie_ on the front. She’d have to ask the innkeeper when the courier was coming in the morning. 

But right now, she was tired. She stretched, her back cracking slightly, and she exhaled a sigh as she stood up, made her way to her bed, got changed into her nightgown, and went to sleep.

* * *

It took two days to get from Ivarstead to Winterhold. Every moment, every step the horses took, dread filled Elsebet’s stomach.

She regretted not writing to her family. She hadn’t been in contact with them for over a month, and she missed them.

When she had woken up in the inn the day before, the courier had just arrived, so she had given her letter for Delphine to him, telling her she was in Markarth. He’d made a little note, then departed on his rounds of the hold.

Now, as she and Risorallen passed the Frozen Hearth, she wished she had also written to them, telling them she was coming.

They stopped in front of the house that used to be Elsebet’s home, a girl about her age leaning against the fence surrounding it, her red hair long and in tight ringlets, cascading over her shoulders and ending just under her breasts. Her blue eyes were full of joy as she talked to a brown-haired Imperial man in college robes. He was tall and lanky, with a glorious beard that went to his chest, as well as a thick moustache on his upper lip. The two of them looked over at Elsebet and Risorallen as they stopped, curiosity on their faces at the dark-haired Imperial and the woman concealed in a red cloak that looked _too_ familiar.

They dismounted their horses—the woman having a palomino stallion and the Imperial having a dapple grey stallion—and the woman pulled the hood of her cloak off her head.

The red haired girl squealed in delight, and the Nord man grinned at her, his eyes wild, as usual. She ran around the fence separating her and Elsebet and Risorallen, and she lunged at the former and hugged her tightly.

Elsebet laughed. “It’s good to see you too, Hjolma.”

Risorallen raised an eyebrow as they separated, and he could see the resemblance. Hjolma had the same shade of hair as Elsebet did, but it was in tight ringlets instead of wavy, like Elsebet’s. She also only had blue eyes, not two different coloured eyes, though they were the same shade as her twin’s cerulean eye. Other than that, they were identical; the same heart-shaped face, the same squat nose, turned up slightly at the end, the same wide eyes. Acne dotted the left side of her face, concentrated around her eye and nose, and freckles splashed her nose, cheeks, and forehead, much like Elsebet.

The Imperial man came towards them, and Elsebet opened her arms wide for a hug. He dwarfed her, but she didn’t mind as he rested his chin on her head. After a couple seconds they separated, and the man looked her up and down.

“What did you do to your hair?” He asked. “And what are you wearing—is that a _sword?_ ”

Elsebet laughed. “The ends got singed, so I cut it off. I’m wearing armour—it’s what adventurers usually wear when they go adventuring. And, yes, this is a sword. I won’t hesitate to use it on you if you speak to me like that again, Advard.”

Advard rolled his eyes, but didn’t look fazed. Something told him they usually bantered like that.

“How’s betrothed life going for you?” She asked them.

That was when Risorallen noticed the silver ring with an amethyst on it on her ring finger on her left hand. Usually, it was the men that carried an amulet of Mara around until they were ready to propose, then the woman would wear it until their wedding. At least, in Skyrim it was. In Cyrodiil, the man bought a ring, then presented it to the woman, who wore it for the rest of their married life, along with the wedding ring they’d get at the wedding. It was obvious that, as an Imperial, Advard had decided to stick to Imperial customs instead of Nordic ones.

“It’s amazing. The wedding is in a month. Just sent out invitations,” Hjolma said, beaming. She glanced at Risorallen. “Who’s that?”

Elsebet turned slightly, then motioned for Risorallen to get closer. “This is my friend, Risorallen. No idea where he comes from, but he’s been with me for a month and a day, now.”

“Ah,” Advard said. “Mercenary.”

“So what, Carvanus?” Elsebet asked him, a threatening tone to her voice.

“What are you two doing in Winterhold?” Hjolma asked, changing the subject.

Her twin hesitated, but looked away from her future brother-in-law and turned her gaze to her sister. “We need to enter the College. Need to ask Urag a couple questions.”

“You sure you’re not just going to ‘borrow’ a couple more books?” Hjolma asked, her arms crossed over her chest and an eyebrow raised.

She shrugged. “I was going to return them. Besides, I left a note for him. He knows I took them.”

Her twin shook her head. “Why do you need to talk to him?”

“You ever heard of an Elder Scroll?” Elsebet asked. At her sister’s nod, she continued. “We need to know where one is.”

Advard, who had been eyeing Risorallen curiously, spoke. “You look familiar.”

“Aletara’s my sister.”

He didn’t elaborate, but Advard nodded in understanding.

“Why do you need an Elder Scroll?” Hjolma asked them.

Elsebet hesitated, rubbing the back of her neck. “You know the whole _Dragonborn_ thing?”

“Who doesn’t?” Hjolma asked. “He was summoned by the Greybeards. He was heard Shouting on top of the Throat of the World.”

Elsebet raised an eyebrow. She didn’t realise her Thu’um was that loud. Then she winced, though, when she realised that her sister had called her a _he_. Sure, she didn’t know—the only people that knew were those that have been present when she’d Shouted, or absorbed a dragon’s soul, and that was only a handful of people that she’d asked not to tell everyone _she_ was Dragonborn.

“Actually…” She started, taking her hand off her neck and resting it on the pommel of Dragonbane, “ _I’m_ the Dragonborn.”

Advard snorted while Hjolma sighed. “This isn’t a joke, Elsebet,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “The Dragonborn is a hero, and you’ve only been adventuring for just over a month. There is no way you’re the Dragonborn.”

A pang of hurt made itself known in her chest as the two dragon souls inside her grew furious. She didn’t believe her; of _course_ she didn’t, she didn’t have proof. She was faintly aware of Risorallen glaring at her sister while she forced the rising Thu’um in her throat down. Now was not the time to fling her sister across the snow with a Word.

The forming scar on her palm ached where she’d cut it to draw blood for the blood seal. She rubbed it with her other hand, taking off the linen that was wrapped around it to check on it.

Hjolma paled when she saw it. “Where’d you get that?”

Elsebet glanced up from the wound and locked eyes with her sister. “I did it myself,” she said finally. “To open a blood seal in an ancient Akaviri temple.”

She didn’t say which Akaviri temple. Of course she didn’t. That would destroy the meaning of a secret hideout, if everyone knew where it was.

Hjolma put a shaky hand over her mouth, shocked. “Why would you _do_ that?”

“I told you,” she said. “To open an ancient Akaviri temple.”

Risorallen placed a hand on her shoulder. “We should get to the College. We need to know where that Elder Scroll is.”

Elsebet nodded, wrapping her hand up with another piece of linen. They turned to head to the College of Winterhold, but a dragon roared in the distance, and flew over the mountain that held the Shrine of Azura, over the expanse between the Shrine and Winterhold, and around the College.

Elsebet drew her bow as it circled the town, not noticing that Hjolma and Advard were calling her and Risorallen to get inside.

A name was forced into her head as the green dragon— _Keypaalvul_ —landed on top of the Frozen Hearth, and shot a volley of ice towards her.

Why did the dragons target her?

She ran out of the way of the ice, knocking an arrow and aiming it at the dragon. She pulled back on the string and let go of it, the arrow sailing through the air and piercing through Keypaalvul’s wing. It roared into the sky, then leapt into the air and flew around the town once. It landed heavily on the ground just outside Winterhold, and snapped at the closest guard.

She put her bow on her back and unsheathed Dragonbane, the blade sparking as she charged at the dragon. It opened its maw, a hail of ice leaving it, heading towards her.

“ _FEIM!_ ”

The ice particles sailed harmlessly through her, making Risorallen roll out of the way so he wouldn’t get hurt. Elsebet ran at the dragon, ignoring the stares of all those she knew as she grew up, and leaped at it as she became opaque again. She thrust her sword down, cutting the dragon’s armoured hide like it was butter. It roared in pain, and she gripped the handle of Dragonbane with both hands, lightning arching off the blade and onto Keypaalvul’s body, and thrust the blade hilt-deep into its neck.

It spasmed as she pulled Dragonbane out of its neck, coated in crimson blood, and then stopped, going limp on the floor. She pulled out a piece of linen to clean the blood off Dragonbane as Keypaalvul’s skin started disintegrating into a white light. Everyone around them, including the guards, watched in awe as the dragon’s soul collected into a bright white light above its body, then surged towards Elsebet and sinking into her chest.

Keypaalvul joined with Sahloknir and Dovmeyzfiik.

The dragon’s bones stayed on the ground as she turned away, dropping the piece of linen stained with its blood, and sheathed Dragonbane. She and Risorallen walked away from the bones, Elsebet feeling self-conscious at all the stares. She pulled her hood over her head, trying to block them out, and they headed towards the bridge that would take them to the College of Winterhold.

A High Elf woman was staring at her as she neared her, and Elsebet recognised her as Faralda, from when she was a child and snuck into the College. She had still been a student, then, but she heard from Istah that she was now the College’s Master of Destruction magic.

“You’re the Dragonborn.” It wasn’t a question.

Elsebet nodded. “May I enter the College?”

“Why do you want to enter the College?” Faralda asked.

“I need to speak with the Master of the Arcanaeum,” she answered. “May I enter the College?”

Faralda nodded, and swept her arm to the side. “I’ll escort you.”

“No need.”

Elsebet and Risorallen turned to see Hjolma and Advard standing behind them. It was Advard that had spoken.

“We’ll go with them.”

Faralda narrowed her eyes in annoyance. “I don’t think a _student_ should be escorting the _Dragonborn_ around, don’t you think?”

It was obvious Faralda didn’t see who she was, and she hummed in annoyance. She pulled the hood off her head, and a gasp escaped the Altmer’s throat.

“ _Elsebet?_ ”

The side of her mouth quirked up. “The very same. Do I still have my honorary membership, or do I actually have to _join_ the College to speak to _one_ person?”

Risorallen snorted as Faralda’s face contorted in anger. But, at a look from Elsebet, she stepped aside and let the four of them pass.

They walk in silence as they make their way up the winding bridge, stepping over the broken pieces from the Great Collapse, and to the massive gate that opens into the College. As they approach, it opens, and then closes when they enter.

There are a few people mulling around the grounds, a couple students practicing their Destruction magic while their opponents practice wards. Destruction and Restoration students were always paired together for this very reason.

Someone familiar catches Elsebet’s eye, and she glances at them as they pass him.

He was a Nord, tall but with a bit of muscle-tone. He was about sixteen, and was wearing a set of Novice college robes, reading a book with the symbol for the School of Conjuration on the front. Lying next to him, resting its head on his lap, was a familiar. He scrunched up his face, his dark eyes concentrating on what he was reading, then pushed his short black hair out of his face and held a hand in front of him. Heconcentrated for a couple seconds, and an ethereal sword appeared in his hand, growing from the hilt until it was a full sword, looking Daedric but dealing a lot less damage than a real one. It disappeared, then, and the book disintegrated in his hands, much like all spell books did.

He was the same boy Elsebet had seen storm away from that Companion, Vilkas, in Whiterun. Zedronymus had said his name was Kyrun.

They passed him, and entered the Hall of the Elements.

Inside, there was a lecture going on, lead by Tolfdir, the College’s Master of Alteration. She could see her brother, Istah, in the crowd, his dark brown hair messy, his blue eyes wide as he learned more about the School of magic he’d apprenticed as.

They didn’t enter the Hall properly, though. They turned in the entrance and went through the door that would lead the Arcanaeum. Up and up, they went, until they got to a landing, and they entered the Arcanaeum.

There was one person in there with the Orc librarian. She was an Imperial, her long dark hair tied in a braid, with a few loose hairs frizzing around her head. She was rifling through a shelf, three books resting on her arm and hip. She didn’t look up when she heard them pass, just continued her research. Elsebet recognised her as Aletara Belinius, a history scholar, and Risorallen’s sister.

They approached Urag gro-Shub as he sat behind a desk at the end of the Arcanaeum, his head buried in a book. He looked up as they approached, and almost groaned when he saw who it was.

“What do you want?” He asked, his voice gruff and gravelly. His white hair was pulled back into a small ponytail.

Elsebet smiled at him sweetly as he scowled at her, obviously pissed that she took his books. “I’m looking for an Elder Scroll.”

He raised an eyebrow, and Aletara looked over at them, pulling a book from the shelf. “And what do you plan on doing with it? Do you even know what you’re asking about, or are you just someone’s errand girl?”

Elsebet’s face fell. “Of course I do. Do you have one?”

He let out a laugh. “You think that even if I did have one here, I’d let you see it? It would be kept under the highest security. The greatest thief wouldn’t be able to lay a finger on it.”

She raised an eyebrow slightly. That sounded like a challenge. Sure, she was far from being the best, but she had plenty of time to improve. “What about the Dragonborn?”

“What about… wait. Are you?” His eyes went wide. “Were you the one the Greybeards were calling?” At Elsebet’s nod, he continued speaking. “I’ll bring everything we have on them, but it’s not much. So don’t get your hopes up. It’s mostly lies, leavened with rumour and conjecture.”

He stood up, and headed to a nearby bookcase. He pulled out two books, and then walked over to the four and laid them on the desk. He then went back to sitting behind the desk, still trying to comprehend the fact that the girl that always snuck into the College for books was the Dragonborn.

She nodded at him and took the two books, then made her way to one of the small desks in the middle of the Arcanaeum and collapsed on a chair. Risorallen went over to talk to his sister, while Hjolma and Advard sat down next to her, looking like they wanted to speak but didn’t.

She was halfway through _Effects of the Elder Scrolls_ when the awkward tension in the air became unbearable, and she dropped the book on her lap and looked at the two.

“What?” She asked.

“I’m sorry we didn’t believe you,” Hjolma said, guilt written on her face. She was speaking quietly, so as not to draw the attention of Urag. “About you being the Dragonborn.”

Elsebet looked at her twin sister, a small smile on her face. “It’s okay. I understand. I would’ve done exactly what you did if you came home after a month and told me you were the Dragonborn.”

She smiled at her, a look of relief on her face.

“Wait,” Advard said, holding up a finger. He pointed at Elsebet. “If you’re the Dragonborn,” he then pointed at Hjolma, “wouldn’t she _also_ be Dragonborn?”

“Not necessarily.”

They jump slightly at the sudden voice. They look up and see Aletara and Risorallen standing in front of them, Aletara’s arms full of books. She was young— _too_ young to be a scholar. Risorallen had told her that she’d been at the College studying history and magic since she was seven, having been sent there by their parents when they saw how smart she was. She’d been there for over twenty years, and she was only twenty-nine.

“The Dragonborn is the Chosen of Akatosh,” Aletara elaborated, placing her books on the table and sitting across from Elsebet. Risorallen stayed standing. “The Septims were all Dragonborn rulers because they were descended from Tiber Septim, a Dragonborn. They couldn’t Shout because they only carried the dragonblood—they weren’t _actually_ Dragonborn.” She took one of the books from the stack she put down, and Elsebet recognised it as _The Book of the Dragonborn_. She flipped it to the last page. “There’s a prophecy, centred around the Last Dragonborn. It reads as this:

“ _When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world_

_“When the Brass Tower walks, and Time is reshaped_

_“When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles_

_“When the Dragonborn ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls_

_“When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding_

_“The World-Eater wakes and the wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn._ ”

Elsebet blinks at Aletara when she finished reciting the prophecy. “I was never told of any prophecy.”

The Imperial glanced up from the book and locked eyes with the Dragonborn. “Let’s analyse the lines, shall we? _When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world_. That can only mean when Emperor Uriel Septim the Seventh was imprisoned by his battlemage, Jagar Tharn, and the unnamed Champion went around Tamriel finding the _eight pieces_ of the Staff of Chaos.”

“What does this have anything to do with me not being Dragonborn?” Hjolma asked her, her voice deadpan.

Aletara raised a finger. “I’m getting to that. _When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped_.”

“Wasn’t that when the Numidium was reactivated and the Dragon Break happened?” Advard asked her.

She nodded.

“What’s a ‘Dragon Break’?” Risorallen asked.

Aletara thought for a second. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s sort of when Time breaks.”

Elsebet nodded slowly. “Like a Time-Wound?”

“Exactly.”

Risorallen nodded. “That makes sense. We’re actually dealing with a Time-Wound right now—it’s why we need the Elder Scroll.”

Aletara looked impressed, then went back to the prophecy. “ _When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles_. The first part is the Tribunal. It has to be. The second part is the Red Mountain exploding. _When the Dragonborn ruler loses his throne, and the White tower falls_.”

“The Oblivion Crisis,” Elsebet said. “Emperor Uriel Septim the Seventh was killed by assassins, leaving his bastard son, Martin, the only one left. The dragonfire fails, and Mehrunes Dagon invades Tamriel in the middle of the Imperial City.”

Hjolma nodded. “Right, and the Amulet of the Kings breaks when Martin Septim turns into Akatosh.”

Satisfied, Aletara continues. “ _When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding_. I always had trouble finding an event for this one, but I think now it’s the Civil War between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks. And that leads us to the last line: _The World-Eater wakes and the wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn_.”

Elsebet shook her head. “I still don’t understand.”

“Don’t you get it?” She asked, her dark eyes piercing. “ _You’re_ the one this prophecy is talking about. _You’re_ the Last Dragonborn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wordcount (According to Pages): 93,705
> 
> Pages (According to Pages): 187
> 
> Chapters: 40


	29. Back Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you guys didn't see the notification, I updated on Sunday, so if you haven't read it between then and now, please go back a chapter. This is only going to confuse you.

It was silent in the Arcanaeum as what Aletara said sunk in. Elsebet took a ragged breath. She was the Last Dragonborn. The _Last_ one. But that didn’t make any sense; she was a _nobody_ , a failed mage that wanted adventure from a boring life. She wasn’t anything special.

But she was. She was the Dragonborn that was destined to defeat Alduin, and she was scared. She _couldn’t_ —before a month before, she hadn’t even touched a sword, and she only knew how to use a bow. Now, she had been forced to use a sword on multiple occasions—oblivion, she had a sword _specifically made_ to harm dragons more than a regular sword did.

“I remember when you were a child,” Aletara said.

Elsebet raised her head, tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks. The Imperial woman was smiling at her.

“You were ecstatic to join the College, like your mother. But they wouldn’t let you in, so you snuck in. To both read and to get somewhere high. You loved being high.” She let out a chuckle. “We once found you on top of the Archmage’s quarters, and we all wondered how you got up there.”

Elsebet remember that. She had just gotten into a fight with Jorten, because he said he wouldn’t be able to teach her how to use a bow. And, whenever she was angry, she went to the highest spot she could, so she could calm down on her own. She’d wanted to go up there for a while, to see the view, and she was finally tall enough to reach all the stones, so she climbed up it. The view had been amazing, and she had even seen the Shrine of Azura in the distance.

She had been nine, then, and Jorten said he’d teach her if she never went up there again. She agreed, and he taught her. He himself was only fourteen.

She sniffed. “I should get back to reading.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Aletara said, then gathered her books, stood up, and went to the other side of the Arcanaeum, where she sat down at another table and started reading through the books.

It didn’t take long for Elsebet to finish reading _The Effects of the Elder Scrolls_ , and at some point, Hjolma and Advard had gone and collected some research from their dorms and started studying it, Advard studying Alteration and Hjolma studying Illusion.

Elsebet placed the book on the table and picked up the other one. She opened the cover and started reading.

_Rumination on the Elder Scrolls - by Septimus Signus, College of Winterhold_

_Imagine living beneath the waves with a strong-sighted blessing of most excellent fabric. Holding the fabric over your gills, you would begin to breath-drink its warp and weft. Though the plantmatterfibres imbue your soul, the wretched plankton would pollute the cloth until it stank to heavens of prophecy. This is one matter in which the Scrolls first came to pass, but are we the sea, or the breather, or the fabric?_

Elsebet scrunched up her face. This didn’t make any sense.

_Can we flow through the Scrolls as knowledge flow through, being water, or are we the stuck morass of sea-filth that gathers on the edge?_

“Can you tell me if this makes sense?” Elsebet asked Hjolma and Advard, and they dropped their quills and listened with rapt attention. Elsebet cleared her throat. “ _Imagine, again this time but different. A bird cresting the wind is lifted by a gust and downed by a stone. But the stone can come from above, if the bird is upside down._

_“Where, then, did the gust come from? And which direction? Did the gods send either, or has the bird decreed their presence by her own mindmaking?_ ”

She looked up at the two, and they shook their heads.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Hjolma said. Advard hummed in agreement, and they went back to their work.

Elsebet decided to keep reading.

_The all-sight of the Scrolls makes a turning of the mind such that relative positions are absolute in their primacy._

Elsebet started getting it. It was a metaphor. The gust of wind was the Scroll, and the bird was the mortal plane. No one knew exactly where the Elder Scrolls came from, not even the immortal dragons did. Paarthurnax himself said that it came from outside of Time itself.

She kept reading, keeping the metaphor in her mind.

_I ask you again to imagine for me. This time you are beneath the ground, a tiny acorn planted by well-meaning elf-maiden of the woodlands for her pleasure. You wish to grow but fear what you may become, so you push off the water, the dirt, the sun, to stay in your hole. But it is the very pushing that you become a tree, in spite of yourself. How did that happen?_

Everything was starting to make sense. Mortals like her were so afraid of power, they push it and locked it away, only for them to become what they feared by locking it away. It was like the Elder Scrolls, in this matter; no one has really looked into the Scrolls, so they knew hardly anything about it. But, the time has come that they need to use it, and they have to otherwise the world will not survive.

_The acorn is a type of tree-egg in this instance, and the knowledge is water and sun. We are the chicken inside the egg, but also the dirt. The knowledge of the Scrolls is what we push against to become pull-sighted ourselves._

_One final imagining before your mind closes from the shock of ever-knowing. You are now a flame burning bright blue within a vast emptiness. In time you see your brothers and sisters, burning of their own in the distance and along your side._

_A sea of pinpoints, a constellation of memories. Each burns bright, then flickers. Then two more take its place but not forever lest the void fills with rancid light that sucks the thought._

_Each of our minds is actually the emptiness, and the learnings of Scrolls are the pinpoints. Without their stabbing light, my mind would be a vast nothingness, unknowing its emptiness as a void is unknowing itself. But the burnings are dangerous, and must be carefully tended and minded and brought to themselves and spread to their siblings._

That was the end of the book. Elsebet shut it with a _snap_ , causing her three companions to look at her, and she pulled the books she’d borrowed from Urag before she left Winterhold out of her pack and placed them on the table, then picked up the two books Urag had given her and went up to the desk.

She placed them on the desk with a resounding _thud_ , making the Orc look up. “What’s up with _Rumination of the Elder Scrolls?_ ”

A lot of other people would have found it confusing, like she did at the beginning, but as she read on it all started to make sense, and she needed to see Septimus Signus.

The old Orc seemed to understand the question. “Aye, that’s the work of Septimus Signus. He’s the world’s master of the nature of the Elder Scrolls, but… well. He’s been gone for a while. Too long.”

“Where’d he go?” She asked.

He shrugged. “Somewhere up north, in the ice fields. Said he found some old Dwemer artefact, but… well, that was years ago. Haven’t heard from him since.”

She sighed, but thanked him and returned to the table she had vacated, leaving the books on his desk. She collapsed onto the chair she was previously in, and looked at her sister to see her staring.

“What?” She asked.

“Why’d you want to know where that man is?” Hjolma asked, her brow furrowed. “It was incomprehensible.”

Elsebet planted her elbow on the table and rested her forehead on her palm. “I started getting it the further into the book I went. He was writing in metaphors, because that’s the only way to accurately describe the Elder Scrolls. As Paarthurnax said, the Scrolls come from outside Time itself. They’re so powerful not even the gods want to mess with them.”

Hjolma thought for a moment. “That makes sense. So, what? You’re going to go find him?”

She nodded. “In the morning, though. I’m tired.”

Her twin smiled. “Mother will be happy you’re back. Istah, too, if he decides to come home or just crash in his dorm.”

Hjolma closed the book she was taking notes from and gathered her stuff. She kissed Advard on the cheek softly in goodbye, and stood up, Elsebet and Risorallen following suite.

It didn’t take long for them to leave the College behind and get to their house.

Hjolma pushed the door open and walked in, holding the door open for Elsebet and Risorallen. The smell of food hung in the air, and Elsebet breathed in the scent deeply. She missed her mother’s cooking—missed homemade food. She hadn’t cooked anything in the passed month, for two reasons: one, she didn’t know how to cook, and two, the first and only time her mother tried to teach her she almost burnt the house down. Her mother had decided to keep the cooking to herself.

“Ah, Hjolma!” Their mother, Jorasine, said from her spot at the cooking spit. She didn’t bother looking up. “I’ve almost finished the stew. Istah’s home, as well. First time this week.” He stirred the stew one last time, then took a bowl from the table next to her and served up some stew. By the smell of it, it was horker stew. “He’s downstairs, getting dressed out of his College robes.” She turned to give the bowl to Hjolma, but almost dropped it when she saw Elsebet. Hjolma, seeing their mother’s loosening grip on the bowl, rushed over and took it from her.

“Hi, Ma,” Elsebet said, a grin on her face.

Jorasine rushed over to her and enveloped her in a hug. When she finally let go a moment later, she held her youngest at arm’s length to take her in. “How have you been?”

“Good,” she said. She nodded at Risorallen. “This is my friend, Risorallen.”

“Nice to meet you, Ma’am,” the Imperial said.

“Please,” Jorasine said, ‘call me Jorasine.”

Istah decided to come upstairs, then, in a plain tunic and trousers, feet bare despite the cold weather. He jumped slightly when he saw Elsebet, but he quickly composed himself and grinned at her.

“Hey, sis. Long time, no see.”

She let out a chuckle as Jorasine reached out and touched the ends of her hair. “Why did you cut it?”

Elsebet’s hand went to her arm where the scars from where Sahloknir bit her as she remembered what happened. “It got singed.”

“Try to cook again, did we?” Her mother asked, raised an eyebrow.

She laughed, shaking her head. “No, that’s never happening again.” Her face and tone went serious. “A dragon did it.”

Jorasine covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes wide with fear. “A _dragon?_ When was this? Was the Dragonborn around? He better have been. If my baby got hurt and he wasn’t there—”

Elsebet cut off her mother before she could threaten her, and Istah grabbed a bowl and filled it with stew, obviously hungry. “No, Ma, I didn’t get hurt,” she lied. She didn’t want to tell her mother that the dragon had bitten her. “And yes, the Dragonborn was there.”

Her mother narrowed her eyes at her. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Dread filled her stomach. She didn’t know if she _should_ tell her that she was the Dragonborn; look how Hjolma and Advard had taken it. Oblivion— _no one_ she’d told so far had believed her when she told them the truth. She had to prove to Delphine she was Dragonborn by killing a dragon. The only one she _didn’t_ have to prove herself to was Master Arngeir, and that was only because he could sense it. And all the dragons she’d killed.

But she had to.

“I’m Dragonborn.”

Jorasine had always been able to tell when people were lying. It was a gift of hers. But, even though there were no signs of lying showing on Elsebet’s face, she prayed to the gods that her youngest was lying.

Not because she didn’t want to believe her, but because it put her little girl in a lot of danger.

She suddenly went back to the day Elsebet left. She had been wanting to leave Winterhold since the Great Collapse, but she didn’t because she wasn’t old enough. But, she had just turned nineteen, and she couldn’t keep her in the house any longer.

She had cried that night, seeing her walk away from her home, her brother’s cloak wrapped around her shoulders to keep out the cold as she walked to Windhelm, the only thing she had for protection being her brother’s bow.

And now, just over a month later, that same girl was telling her that she was the Dragonborn, the person destined to defeat the World-Eater.

Why her? She was only nineteen.

“Ma?” There was fear in Elsebet’s voice as she pleaded her mother to speak.

“Oh, my poor baby,” she muttered, tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks as she pulled her daughter in for another hug.

Istah was just staring at Elsebet, spoon full of horker stew halfway to his mouth. It dropped from his slack grip and landed in his bowl, causing the stew to splash out of the bowl. He didn’t move to clean it up, though. He just stared at his younger sister, disbelief on his face as Jorasine sobbed on her shoulder.

When Jorasine finally let go of her, she wiped the tears from her face and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down.

“I didn’t want this,” Elsebet said, “but I can’t deny my destiny.”

Jorasine nodded, wiping her hands on her red dress, then sniffed. “I know. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Elsebet gave her a small smile. “That’s inevitable.”

“You should see her in combat,” Risorallen said. Elsebet had forgotten he was there. “She can handle herself.”

She smiled at him in thanks, then looked at her mother. “I’m going to get changed. Is my room still available?”

“Of course it is,” Jorasine said. “It always will be.”


	30. A Crazy Old Man

Elsebet hopped from the sheet of ice she was standing on to the one next to it, her boots gripping on the ice so she didn’t slip. When she had woken up that morning, she had quickly eaten her breakfast so she and Risorallen could start searching the ice fields. Jorasine had told her to go to Birna’s Oddments to get weather-appropriate clothing, and the two had begrudgingly went.

She was glad she went, because otherwise she’d be slipping and sliding on the ice she and Risorallen were walking on.

It felt weird, though, not wearing armour. That was the first time in a month she hadn’t worn armour during the day, and she felt unprotected. She still had Dragonbane strapped to her hip, and her bow on her back, but they wouldn’t help with defence if she was ambushed, or if an enemy hit her with their weapons.

They moved to the next sheet of ice, aware that there was a pack of horkers eyeing them off, waiting for them to come close so they could attack them. They gave the horkers a wide birth, though.

That was when Elsebet saw the boat, pulled onto a small bit of land, near a wooden trapdoor pushed into bottom of an iceberg. She hit Risorallen’s arm, the snow that was falling around them getting heavy. She pointed at the boat and he nodded, and the two slowly made their way to it.

Risorallen bent over the trapdoor and pulled it open, motioning for Elsebet to go down first. She did, climbing down the rickety old ladder that obviously hadn’t been used in a while. Her breath materialised in front of her as she breathed, and she heard Risorallen land in the snow behind her.

She made her way through the small tunnel, really glad her mother made her put on snow clothes. The tunnel opened out into a room, not overly big but not too small. She and Risorallen were on a natural walkway above the room, the walkway spiralling around the wall before getting to the lower level. There was a cupboard standing haphazardly next to where the walkway connected with the ground, and there was a cube thing that _had_ to be Dwemer on the other side of the room. She could hear someone muttering to themselves.

They made their way down the walkway, only to see an old man in blue mage robes muttering to himself, too low for them to hear.

Elsebet approached him, Risorallen deciding to stay back, with her hand resting on the pommel of Dragonbane. “Are you Septimus Signus?”

The old man nodded wildly. “When the top level was built, no more could be placed. It was and is the maximal apex.”

Elsebet was glad. Hours of searching the ice-fields hadn’t been for nothing. “I heard you know about Elder Scrolls.”

He nodded wildly again. “Elder Scrolls. Yes. The Empire. They absconded with them. Or so they think. The ones they saw. I know of one. Forgotten. Sequestered. But I cannot go to it, not poor Septimus, for I… I have arisen beyond its grasp.”

Hope filled her. “Where is it? Where’s the Scroll?”

“Here,” he said, and she almost squealed. “Well, as in this plane. Mundus. Tamriel. Nearby, relatively speaking. On the cosmological scale, it’s all nearby.”

Annoyance seeped into her. “Can you help me get the Elder Scroll or not?”

“One blocks lifts the other. Septimus will give you what you want, but you must bring him something nearby.” He was speaking in third person, and that was never a good thing.

“What do you want?” She asked cautiously.

He gestured wildly to the Dwemer cube thing. “You see this masterwork of the Dwemer. Deep inside its greatest knowings. Septimus is clever among men, but he is but an idiot child compared to the dullest of the Dwemer. Lucky then they left behind their own way of reading the Elder Scrolls. In the depths of Blackreach one yet lies. Have you heard of Blackreach? ‘ _Cast upon where Dwemer cities slept, the yearning spire hidden learnings kept_.’”

“Where is this ‘Blackreach’?”

His face split into a manic grin. “Under deep. Below the dark. The hidden keep. Tower Mzark. Alftand. The point of puncture, of first entry, of the tapping. Delve to its limits, and Blackreach lies just beyond. But not all can enter there. Only Septimus knows the hidden key to loose the lock to jump below the deathly rock.”

Risorallen looked confused, but Elsebet understood what he was saying. Blackreach was underground— _deep_ underground, if anything Septimus was saying made any sense, and it did to her. It must be massive, too, because by what he was saying there were more than one entrance, all of them various Dwemer ruins. And Dwemer ruins themselves were huge, and scattered across Tamriel.

“How do I get in?”

“Two things I have for you. Two shapes. One edged, one round.” He pulled out a cube and a sphere from his small pack, obviously Dwemer. “The round one, for tuning. Dwemer music is soft and subtle, and need to open their cleverest gates. The edged lexicon, for inscribing. To us, a hunk of metal. To the Dwemer, a full library of knowings. But… empty. Find Mzark and its sky-dome. The machinations there will read the Scroll and lay the lore upon the cube. Trust Septimus. He knows you can know.”

And then he started rambling to himself again, not even telling her where Alftand was. She’d have to check the Arcanaeum.

She turned on her heel and marched away from the rambling old man, and passed Risorallen. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Aletara was reading in the Arcanaeum when Elsebet and Risorallen entered, still wearing their snow clothes as, while they were talking to Septimus Signus, the light snow had turned into a snowstorm. The only reason they knew where they were going was because they could see the faint outline of the College in the distance.

The Imperial woman looked up as Elsebet planted her hands on the table in front of her, an eyebrow raised in question. “What do you know about Blackreach?”

Her eyes lit up, and she closed the book she was reading— _There Be Dragons_ , the title read—then stood up and went to a bookcase on the other side of the room, motioning them to follow. She pulled out a book, with a silver cover, and opened it.

“Blackreach was a group project between several cities,” she said, scrolling through the pages.She stopped at one. “Mzinchaleft, Raldbthar, and Alftand all have access into it. It’s a massive underground cavern the Dwemer found thousands of years ago, way back in the First Era, though they weren’t the lead cities on the project. They were Arkngthamz, Mzulft, Radbthar, and Bthar-zel, which is now called Deep Folk Crossing. The other two cities are only connected because they were already built, but accidentally tunnelled into Blackreach.

“Now, they took an interest in Blackreach because of a very rare mineral called Atherium. They used it in something called the Atherium Forge, but I won’t go into much detail.” She shut the book with a resounding _thud_ and looked at Elsebet. “Why’d you want to know?”

“Does that book tell you were Alftand is?” The Nord asked, pointing at the book.

Aletara shook her head. “No. But,” she held up a finger and put the silver book back on the shelf, before taking another book off the shelf and opening it up, “this one does.”

She flipped through the book until she reached the page she was looking for, and Elsebet took out the map Hadvar had given her almost a month before. There’s a map of Skyrim on the page in the book, stretched out of two pages, though it’s not the usual maps with the holds and cities on it. No, there were strange symbols on it, about ten of them scattered over the map, with names written next to them. 

Elsebet quickly located it, and put its spot on the map. It was southwest of Winterhold, directly west of the Shrine of Azura, on top of a mountain.

She thanked Aletara, and she and Risorallen left the Arcanaeum.

They were halfway through the courtyard when someone they heard footsteps running towards them, and they turned around to see that same boy from the day before studying in the courtyard, running towards them, his familiar at his heels.

Kyrun stopped in front of the duo, breathing deeply, trying to catch his breath. When he finally did, he spoke. “You’re Elsebet and Risorallen, right?”

They nod.

“Great. I wanted to give you something,” he said, reading into the top of his robes and pulling something out. It was covered by his hand, but it was connected to a steel chain around his neck. He pulled the chain over his head and held it out for Elsebet to grab. “It was my mother’s, but I think it’ll help you.”

Elsebet let it drop into her outstretched palm, and she saw it was a steel timepiece, the three hands on it moving around the circle at different rates, protected with glass. One of them looked like it wasn’t moving at all. She turned it over, and there was another glass screen on the back, with a needle in the middle, one side red, the other white, with four letters around the edge of the circle: N, E, S, W.

“It’s called a compass,” Kyrun said. “The white part of the needle points north. It tells you what direction you’re going.” He reached over and turned it pack to the timepiece side. “This tells the time. The big hand is the minute hand, the small hand is the hour hand, and the thin one that’s moving very quickly is the second hand. Each of the small dashes is a minute, each of the big dashes are five minutes, and indicate the hour, so it’s currently two twenty-four in the afternoon, since this is a twelve-hour clock.”

She’d learnt all about time as she grew up—that there were sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, and twenty-four hours in a day. She’d also learnt that the day is split into twelve-hour intervals; morning and afternoon. She’d never seen it on a timepiece, though, and it was suddenly very daunting.

Elsebet tried to give it back. “I can’t take this.”

The Nord in front of her grinned. “Of course you can. I don’t need it. I don’t go adventuring. Besides, you’re going in to Dwemer ruin—I heard you talking with Aletara,” he said at their confused expressions. “You’ll need it more than I do.”

She gripped it in her hand and pulled the chain over her head, and let it rest on top of her snow clothes. She’d have to get changed into her Blades armour once she got to her mother’s house—the snowstorm had let off, and the sky above them was clear.  
  
“Thank you, Kyrun.”

His grin grew, then he turned around and made his way back to the Arcanaeum.

It took the rest of the day to get to Alftand. The time on the timepiece Kyrun had given Elsebet read nine forty-nine. They’d learned how to read it on the way, waiting a couple minutes between each reading so it stuck in their heads.

* * *

 

Alftand was only reachable from the top of the mountain, and they had slowly climbed it, leading their horses behind them. There was a Dwemer elevator sticking out of the snow, but they weren’t able to access it. There was a burnt-down badly-constructed hut adjacent to it, and Elsebet and Risorallen decided to set up camp inside the hut.

They slept rather peacefully, in three-hour shifts that was timed with the timepiece, so they wouldn’t get ambushed.

The sky started to get brighter at about six o’clock in the morning, and Risorallen woke Elsebet up and handed the timepiece to her. She woke up groggy, but accepted the steel object and pulled it over her neck. She felt stiff, from sleeping in her armour, but they couldn’t exactly get dressed. They had to be ready in came they got ambushed, and they didn’t know how long they were going to be in Alftand.

Elsebet had unloaded the unneeded stuff she’d picked up during her journeys at Birna’s Oddments, and she was glad she did. She would undoubtedly get more stuff.

The two made their way down the wooden bridge that lead to the entrance of the Dwemer city, built by the previous people that searched it. They entered the small gap between a fallen beam and a sheet of ice, and they were inside the ruin.

The snow had blown in with the wind, and Elsebet pulled her cloak around her as the two of them descended the slight slope, turning twice, the paths filled with wooden barrels the previous occupants had most likely brought in, and they stopped at a campsite, ruined by the snow and small patches of blood. The cooking spit was lying haphazardly on top of a bedroll, and Elsebet and Risorallen looked at each other before continuing on.

There was more blood, further ahead, with bloodstained bedrolls that were ripped and shredded. It was obvious that the people that inhabited the bedrolls had been rudely awaken. By what, she didn’t know.

Two more turns and a steep descent, and there were still blood splatters, some of them indicating someone was dragged, others just drips, obviously running from what attacked them. They passed through a wooden structure meant to keep the snow passage from falling and caving in, and turned again, and found themselves in the actual ruin.

Beams of Dwemer architecture lined the room, pipes providing steam running around the walls, still working to this day as some of them pumped. Pillars kept the roof up, but there was still ice and snow clinging to the walls, ground, and ceiling.

Evidently, there were a lot of twists and turns, and it was ten minutes until they got to a proper room. This being their first time in a Dwemer ruin, they had no idea what to expect, but they had heard that the Dwemer machines, the Animunculi, still roamed the halls, protecting the broken cities even while their masters were dead, having not been turned off before the whole race of the Dwemer disappeared suddenly.

Elsebet gripped her bow in her hand as they passed a pipe, the end of it blocked by rubble, the room small. An elevator was a couple feet away from a table, not accessible from their location. On the table was a Dwarven Spider, something she’d only read about, dead. There was a soul jem, and a book that had obviously been left in a hurry. She opened it, and saw it was notes, most likely for research. She closed it and put it in her pack, so she could read it later. She also pocketed the _Dwarves_ books scattered around the room, so she could also read those.

They took a couple steps outside the room, and the sound of compressed steam being released filled the room, and the skittering of metal on stone quickly followed it. Elsebet pulled an arrow out of her quiver as she turned around, only to see the same creature as the one on the table jumping at her.

She shot the arrow at it, and it penetrated its metal hide, severing the wiring inside. It fell to the ground harmlessly, dead, as Elsebet stepped out of the way.

She was not looking forward to the rest of the ruin.

They turned a corner and went up a steep ramp. The Dwarves liked their ramps, as well, and obviously not stairs. They passed a broken pipe, and the walls turned to ice again as they went back into the glacier. They went own a small slope, where a dead Dwarven Spider laid. Behind them, the sound of metal on ice filled the air, and a Dwarven Spider jumped onto Risorallen’s back.

He let out a cry as he stumbled, the Spider trying to claw its way through the steel armour he wore. Elsebet dropped her bow and wrenched the Spider off his back. She then unsheathed Dragonbane and stabbed it through the head. It shuddered once then powered off.

She pulled Dragonbane out of the Dwarven Spider and sheathed it.


	31. Why Must There Be Animunculi?

Elsebet went over to Risorallen, picking up her bow on the way.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Shocked, mostly. That Spider came from nowhere.”

She pat him on the shoulder. “That’s good.” She checked the timepiece around her neck. “We’ve been in here for fifteen minutes and it already feels like an eternity.”

He nodded, and the two of them started forward.

They slid down an icy slope that curved halfway down, a torch sprouting from the ice on the curve. Elsebet had the sense to pick it up as they tried to slow down their descent, but it was futile as they landed at the bottom in a pile.

They stood up, brushed the ice off their armour, and continued on, Elsebet’s breath crystallising in front of her.

There were more blood splatters, leading the way they were headed. They turned a corner, and they heard someone muttering to themselves, their voice showing the fact that they were male, and most definitely a Khajiit. When they turn the next corner, said Khajiit pulls out a knife and attacks them.

Elsebet acted quickly—in one swift motion, she had Dragonbane unsheathed, and, in one second, embedded it into the Khajiit’s stomach. She pulled the blade out, and he fell to the floor, his breathing ragged and uneven, as his blood slowly pooled under him.

He bled out as they saw the dead Khajiit in the bedroll around the corner, stab wounds in his chest, his blood pooled around him. There were empty skooma bottles around the makeshift campsite, and that explained the Khajiit’s erratic behaviour. They quickly continued on, not wanting to be there any longer.

And then they were back in the ruins of Alftand, with its pillars and pipes and bronze Animunculi.

There was a dead Dwarven Spider at the end of the hall, lying on a table next to a red leather-bound journal. There was an impassable gate in front of them, but a hall that led around it. They followed the hall until it led out into a massive chamber, the roof high above their heads, a slightly raise platform in the middle with a bronze contraption on either side of it.

When they stepped onto the platform, the bronze contraptions opened up, and a Dwarven Sphere fell out of each of them. They stood up to their full height, a head taller than Elsebet but the same height as Risorallen, and Elsebet knocked an arrow as they approached.

She fired at the closer one as Risorallen ran at the other one, battleaxe raised over his head, issuing a war-cry. Elsebet aimed another arrow as here Sphere, now with an arrow in its elbow that severed several wires so that arm was useless, approached her. She aimed for its neck and let the arrow fly. It _thanked_ into the joint between its body and its head, and it spasmed as it fell to the ground, just as Risorallen decapitated his Dwarven Sphere.

They stood there for a second before they continued forward, keeping their weapons ready just in case the Animunculi ambushed them. They had just shown that they could come from anywhere, and they needed to be ready.

They went down the hall, through all its twists and turns, until they emerged in a room, smaller than the one they had just been in. The sound of one the Animunculi transporters—as Elsebet had decided to call them—opening hit the Nord’s ears, and she quickly drew an arrow and turned around and let the arrow fly.

The Dwemer Spider was dead before it could launch itself at them.

Another one came at them from the other side of the room. Elsebet shot an arrow at it, and it shut off, the wiring inside it destroyed.

They made their way onwards, picking up the occasion item that could be valuable, pass the body of the dead Dwarven Spider, and headed towards a door. There was a gate next to it, two chests inside it with other valuable goodies, and Elsebet took a lockpick out of her pack and unlocked the gate. It swung open, and she crouched at the first chest, ignoring Risorallen’s eye roll. The chest was also locked, but it was quickly picked open, only to be greeted by a small coinpurse of about twelve septims. She cursed her luck and moved to the second chest.

This one was unlocked, and gave her a better haul of a Dwarven sword, several soul gems, and a scroll to summon a storm atronach to fight for you for sixty seconds.

Happy with what she got, she and Risorallen went through the closed door, made of pure Dwarven metal, cold to the touch and requiring both of them to push it open.

There was a small hall with an ascending staircase at the end, where the sound of metal on stone was coming from. Elsebet knocked an arrow, ready to assault anything in her path, and ascended the stairs, turning her body to the right. There was a descending staircase, the passage blocked off, with a Dwarven Spider at the bottom trying to clear the way. She blinked for a second, then shook her head and fired the arrow.

There was a scattering sound behind her, and she turned around, her feet not moving, and shot the second Dwarven Spider with another arrow.

Next to her was a chest with a pressure plate in front of it. The Dwarves had obviously not thought that trap through, because she moved around the side of the chest and looted it, getting quite a lot of gold and a couple soul gems.

The hall extended to the left, where the second Spider came from, and she and Risorallen, who had decided to put his battleaxe on his back since it was obvious that Elsebet had everything, made their way down it.

There were niches cut into the walls, steam pouring out of grates next to the stone walkway they were currently walking down. At the end of the hall was a staircase leading up. After killing a Spider and looting from a table next to it, they turned down the next hall and down a set of stairs and into an upper walkway of a chamber.

After looking over the thick metal pipes that lined the edge of the walkway, they realised they were on a walkway above where they’d fought the two Dwarven Spheres.

The sound of steam pumping and metal moving smoothly on metal filled the walkway ahead, and they realised that there were pumps ahead of them, a trap to push whoever walked passed off the walkway and onto the ground below, the fall most likely incapacitating anyone that fell victim.

Clutching her bow in her hand, Elsebet bolted forward whenever the pumps retreated back into the wall. Risorallen was a pump behind her, and Elsebet shot an arrow at a Dwarven Spider that descended from the roof one pump from the end.

They continued on the walkway until they got to a hallway that led away from the room. They made their way down the hall and forced the door at the end open. They were met with another hallway with another door at the end. Steam poured out of the grates on either side of the stone path, and they pushed the door open with all their might, the sound of metal grating on stone filling the air.

They found themselves in another room, with a staircase leading to the top half, a closed gate underneath the stone platform. The metal pipes wound around the room, and there was a Dwarven Spider digging at some rubble in the corner.

Elsebet knocked an arrow and shot the Spider, and the sound of a Dwarven Sphere unfolding upstairs, and she swore as she drew another arrow as it rolled down the stairs, the crossbow on its arm aimed for them. She shot an arrow as it shot the bolt on its arm, and she rolled out of the way just as it sailed next to her. Risorallen drew his battleaxe and ran at it as Elsebet shot another arrow, piercing the bottom of the sphere it rolled on.

Risorallen swung his battleaxe and buried it into the metal arm of the Animunculi in front of him. Elsebet knocked another arrow as the Sphere swiped at Risorallen’s face with one of its razor-sharp arms. He let go of his battleaxe and rolled out of the way, but not fast enough. It caught his cheek, leaving a big red gash as he fell to the floor. An arrow to the Animunculi’s face offlined the Dwarven Sphere, turning it into a pile of scrap metal.

Risorallen pushed himself off the ground, blood pouring from the gash on his cheek as he looked down at the dead Animunculi at his feet. He dug his hand into his pack and pulled out a red healing potion. He pulled the cork out of the top of the bottle and chugged it, cringing as he swallowed the contents. When he had swallowed all of it, he let it fall to the floor, where it shattered.

Elsebet watched as the wound slowly stitched itself closed, leaving only a thick white scar down the side of his face.

“Let’s go,” he said, picking up his battleaxe from the pile of metal in front of him and marching forward, making Elsebet follow her.

They went up the stairs and didn’t take three steps before another Dwarven Spider launched itself at them. Elsebet swung her bow at the flying Spider and whacked it away from them. The bow, thankfully, didn’t break as the Spider hit the wall on the other side of the room. Elsebet quickly knocked an arrow and fired at it, killing it instantly.

They continued through, passed a bunch of blue glowing eggs, and turned a corner to see a ramp with pressure plates up the sides and a gap in the middle of it. They climbed up the side of it, careful not to touch the pressure plates.

They turned a corner and a Dwarven Spider skittered towards them, the front two legs up and ready to fight. It didn’t get to, though, because Risorallen kicked it into the wall, then stomped on its head until it stopped moving.

Elsebet blinked at him as he stomped on it one last time. He took a step back, out of breath, and looked at her.

“What?”  


“Nothing.”

He rolled his eyes and pulled the lever next to him, lowering the gate in front of them. They found themselves at the top of a huge cavern, dug out by the Dwarves thousands of years before. There was a stone walkway that ran through the middle of it, before sloping down in a spiral several feet from the wall. Elsebet was surprised they were still up.

They made their way down the walkway carefully, so they wouldn’t fall. The walkway led down to a platform, where there was no way forward except a metal door behind them, which only had a chest in. Elsebet leant over the edge to see another platform below, the stone walkway leading to it broken and covered in blood.

“There’s no way down,” she said, looking over at Risorallen.

He thought for a second. “I can lower you down with your bow. I’ll jump down after.”

She nodded and handed him her bow, holding onto the other end of it. She was lowered down the side of the platform. She refused to look down as Risorallen lowered her as low as he could. She took a deep breath before letting go of the bow.

She landed on her feet, pain lacing through her ankles as she fell next to a dead Orc she hadn’t seen before. She let out a small shriek as Risorallen threw her bow down. He then jumped down, landing in a roll.

They stood up, Elsebet picking up her bow, and looked around them. Next to the dead Orc was a healing potion, not used, and a whole bunch of arrows she’d never seen before. She picked up the healing potion and put it in her pack, then knocked an arrow on her bow, ready to shoot it if they got ambushed.

They made their way down the ramp that continued to spiral downwards, this time around a huge, carved stone pillar that held up the platform the Orc died on. She was careful to step lightly, to make no noise. She turned around the stone pillar, and her blood went cold.

There was a falmer in front of her, its back to her, a weird looking sword in its hand as it guarded the platform.

She’d heard of them before, but she’d never seen one. The sunken, red eyes, the pale skin, the pointed ears—all from years of living below the ground, as slaves of the Dwemer and then free but the damage had been done by then.

She aimed the arrow at the back of the falmer’s head. The arrow flew and struck true, sending the falmer sprawling on the ground. Risorallen grimaced as they passed it.

They stepped over a tripwire as another falmer came into view. Elsebet knocked an arrow and shot the falmer. They stepped over it and found themselves in front of a jet of fire coming from the ceiling. It stopped for a couple seconds and then started again. They stepped around it, and opened the door that was behind it.

A falmer spotted them, and Elsebet shot at it as it charged at them, letting out a snarl that alerted the rest of the falmer in the room. The first one fell, only to be quickly replaced by another one, who got a lot closer before an arrow through its neck stopped it.

She knocked another arrow, ready if another flakier decided to jump out at them, and slowly went through the small gated area and down two flights of stairs. There weren’t any more falmer, so she let out a sigh and put the arrow back in her quiver.

She and Risorallen looted the room, Risorallen taking a bunch of ore off a shelf and Elsebet sweeping all the alchemical ingredients she could find into her pack.

Something caught her eye, and she reached into her pack and pulled out the Wabbajack. She had forgotten she had it. She twirled it once, feeling her magicka seep from her into the Daedric staff.

“Is that what I think it is?”

She looked up at Risorallen, who was staring at the Wabbajack in awe. She nodded. “Yup. I got when we were in Solitude.”

She kept it out of her pack and held it in her grip as they continued on their way through the Dwemer city of Alftand. They turned the corner, where a falmer was patrolling, and Elsebet aimed the Wabbajack at it as it turned around to face them.

She felt her magic pour through her body and into the staff, the end lighting up red as the falmer charged. She let the energy go, and it hit the falmer in the chest.

And it turned into a sweetroll.

Risorallen and Elsebet stared at it as the baked treat sat on the floor, not doing anything. They glanced at each other before looking back at the sweetroll, then they burst out laughing.

Which promptly made all the other falmer in the room behind the sweetroll to find them.

Elsebet shot the Wabbajack’s energy at them as Risorallen pulled his battleaxe over his shoulder and started swinging at them. He lobbed one of their heads off as the one next to him turned into a chicken. One turned into a pile of coins, and another turned into a dremora. Risorallen quickly attacked that one before it could do much damage, and Elsebet dropped the Wabbajack and pulled her bow off her back, shooting at the last one. Elsebet picked up the Wabbajack and put it in her pack.

They went down the stairs leading to a room full of oil and fire traps. The room was empty, of course, so they went through a side passage riddled with bone chimes. After picking up a bunch of alchemical ingredients next to a still-burning forge, they continued on.

They didn’t get far before they spotted the next falmer, a staff in one hand and frost magic in the other. Elsebet shot an arrow in its neck, and it fell down dead. The next falmer came running after that. It shot its frost spell at them, but not for long before an arrow found itself between its eyes. The third one charged at them, but he was also felled with an arrow.

That seemed to be all of them, but Elsebet didn’t put her bow away as they trotted down a set of stairs and through the room. There was a dead High Elf laying on a stone slab, and was most likely with the others they had found through Alftand.

Elsebet checked the timepiece around her neck and swore. “We’ve been in here for five hours.”

Risorallen’s eyes widened. “Really? Doesn’t feel like it.”

She dropped the timepiece and let it rest between her breasts. “We need to keep going. There’s no telling how long until we get to Blackreach.”

Risorallen nodded, and they made their way through the empty doorway on the other side of the room.

They were in the bottom bit of the massive cavern they had been in earlier, and as they looked up they could see the spiralling walkways and half a falmer dangling off the side of one, an arrow in its chest. Elsebet looked down below to see half a dozen falmer and two frostbite spiders crawling over the icy floor.

She knocked an arrow and aimed it at one of the falmer, crouching on the edge of the stone walkway that spiralled down to meet them. She let the arrow fly, piercing the head of the falmer she aimed for and nailing it to the ground. The other falmer were quick to react and, despite being blind, made their way up the walkway towards her and Risorallen as she shot them with arrows,Risorallen taking out his battleaxe ready to attack them if they got too close.

The first one got there with an arrow in its arm, and hacked at Risorallen. He ducked and buried his battleaxe into its side, then gripped the handle tight, lifted up his leg, and kicked the falmer off the side of the platform. An arrow found itself in the neck of the next falmer, and he slumped down and fell off the side of the platform.

Elsebet set her sights on the approaching spiders, suppressing a shiver as she shot arrow after arrow into them, but they wouldn’t die. All other spiders she’d fought were a lot easier to kill than this, so why weren’t they dying?

A scream filled the cavern, causing Elsebet to whip around to see a falmer sword in Risorallen’s chest, having pierced through his armour, blood pouring over the hilt as the falmer pulled it out, Risorallen falling to the floor, limp and within an inch of his life.

Everything slowed down for Elsebet as she moved, throwing the bow down on the ground and squaring up with the two falmer left. She vaguely heard the _squelch_ of the spiders finally dying in the background, but she didn’t care, not anymore.

She was angry. Angry at the world Angry at the falmer in front of her. Her Thu’um forced itself up her throat, burning her from the inside out as her blood turned to fire, the Word at the front of her mind as she put her foot behind her to keep herself stabilised as she Shouted at the two falmer in front of her.

“ _YOL!_ ”

The wall of flames consumed the falmer, much more powerful with her anger than what she did on the top of the Throat of the World. Her head buzzed as the falmer issued their last cries. The edges of her vision went black, and she vaguely registered the floor coming towards her before darkness engulfed her completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... please don't kill me.


	32. The End of a Beautiful Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for last chapter, but it had to be done. Please don't hate me.

When Elsebet woke up, she wasn’t lying on a stone walkway in the middle of Alftand. She sat up, and looked around at her surroundings.

She was on the top of a mountain, the breeze blowing through her short hair, and pulling at the red cloak around her shoulders. Not far from her was a familiar broken Word Wall, and she realised she was on the top of the Throat of World, the sun shining down on her as she stood up.

The familiar sound of wings beating the wind sounded, and she looked up to see a golden dragon hovering in the air above her. It lowered itself to the ground as Elsebet reached for Dragonbane, but something inside her was telling her that he was peaceful.

A name forced itself into her mind, and she almost screamed when she realised who the dragon was.

_Akatosh_.

“There is no need to be afraid,” the Dragon God said, his voice surprisingly melodic as he stared at her. “I will not hurt you.”

“Why am I here?” She asked, surprised that she could even speak with the god in front of her.

“I needed to speak with you,” he said. “About your destiny.”

She stared up at him, eyes wide, her hand still on the hilt of Dragonbane, her cloak flowing with the wind.

He stared back at her. “Do not fear to stray from yourself. Destiny and fate are fickle things. Although they are not meant to be taken lightly, they are also not meant to be taken as absolute truth. You will not always be _Dovahkiin,_ Elsebet Dragonslayer, but that is okay.”

“What do you mean?”

Instead of answering, images flew through her head, all of people, but they went too fast to be able to see them properly.

Only when they stopped, did he speak. “You will not always be _Dovahkiin_. Do not forget that.”

She wasn’t sure if people could suddenly _stop_ being who they were, but she wasn’t about to tell Akatosh that. He was a the King of the Gods, and she was just a mortal that had a high amount of luck.

A question struck her; the same one she’d been asking herself since she had found out she was Dragonborn. Before she could be ejected from the dream—because there was nothing else she could be in—she asked him the question.

“Why me?”

Akatosh moved, then. He took a step forward, and then he started changing; shifting and condensing and moving until he stopped, in a completely different form. He was a man, now, with tan skin, golden hair, and eyes that shone like the sun, but held an immeasurable weight in them that she’d never seen in a set of eyes before. His clothes were stuff she’d never seen before; a white shirt made of a weird material, black trousers in a stiff material, and a pair of shoes that disappeared into the bottoms of his trousers, all colours of the rainbow with a blue star on a patch of white, the words _CONVERSE ALL STAR_ above and below the star. He moved towards her, until he was an arm away, and stood about two inches taller than her at six foot two.

“You have been destined to be the Last Dragonborn since the beginning of time,” he said, looking into her eyes with an intensity she’d never seen before. “When you were born, I knew that my firstborn would come back. Not even _I_ knew when he would emerge until then. But when you came, I knew the time had come.”

He sighed through his nose, and placed his hands on the sides of her neck. “I chose you because the people of Skyrim need to know that heroes aren’t just big buff Nord men that used swords. That heroes can be anyone.” He dropped his hands. “They’ll need to know that soon, and who better to show them than the Dragonborn?”

Elsebet took a step back from the god and raised an eyebrow. “So you’re using me?”

The side of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re a god. I’m nothing compared to you,” she said, wanting to look away from the golden eyes, but couldn’t.

He scoffed, and turned away slightly, digging his hands into the pockets of his weird trousers. “You mortals need to give yourselves some credit. You’re the ones that built empires and civilisations, not us.” He looked back at her. “There will be darkness in your future. I cannot change it, no matter how much I wish to. But there will also be happiness, and you will find the love of your life before the end.”

“Why do you care so much?” She asked.

He tilted his head. “Believe it or not, you’re like a daughter to me. I’m the reason you are what you are. To be honest, your sister was a surprise, but there can only be Last Dragonborn.” He chuckled slightly. “Well, it’s about time for you to go back to that Dwemer ruin I dragged you out of. The Elder Scroll awaits, as does your future. Take care, Elsebet, and know that I will be watching.”

* * *

 

Elsebet drew a sharp breath, and sat up quickly as she woke up. She looked around her surroundings, not quite sure if what she had witnessed was a dream or just a figment of her imagination. She spotted the familiar walls, the dead falmer surrounding her on the walkway, and the body of Risorallen, blood pooling under his body.

She stood up quickly and stumbled over to him, then fell to her knees and placed her hands on his chest. Her eyes started overflowing as she pressed down on his chest, her hands covered in his blood. He wasn’t breathing, and his skin was starting to lose its colour the longer he laid there. Tears started tracking their way down her cheeks and spilling onto Risorallen’s chest as the gravity of the situation hit her.

Risorallen was dead. And, unlike Lydia, there was no way for her to get his body out of the ruin and to his family. His body was to stay deep underground, with no way to the surface.

It was that thought that made her sob. The thought that he would forever be stuck in a place she had dragged him to. A place he probably never wanted to go to. But he’d probably tell her to continue on, to continue what they started, and mourn once it’s all done.

He’d stayed with her while she’d mourned Lydia, while she’d cried over her dead body. Now, she had no one to hold her while she mourned, and she was scared.

She hadn’t been this alone since she left Winterhold over a month earlier.

She pushed herself to her feet, blood still soaking her hands and tears still streaming down her face, but she had a job to do. She had to get the Elder Scroll so she could defeat Alduin and save the world.

Before, she was doing it because it was her destiny, but her talk with Akatosh told her that it wouldn’t always be that. No, now she was doing it for Risorallen. For him, and Lydia, and whoever else she lost on her journey to destroying Alduin.

She picked up her bow from where it landed when she fainted, and stepped over the bodies of the falmer, casting one last glance at Risorallen before she set off down the walkway, intent on finishing what they had started alone. She trudged over the ice that layered the floor, pulling her cloak around her in search for warmth, and walked down a small hall and pushed open a heavy metal door. She turned left and down a set of stairs, past a poorly-made trap, and through another set of doors, leading to another hall.

She knocked an arrow as she heard pacing around a corner, pulling the string back as a falmer came into view. She let the arrow fly, and it hit it with deadly accuracy, not caring who it hurt in the process.

That was the thing about weapons. They had the intent of their masters, but one wrong move could do something their master would never dream of; hurting a pet, killing a loved one, getting themselves killed.

She pushed that thought out of her mind as she stepped over various pressure plates that lined the floor, abundant but not enough to keep her from continuing.

Nothing could stop her. Not now that Risorallen was dead.

She pushed the next set of heavy doors opened to find herself in a small cavern, a set of stone steps leading upwards with a stone gate in front of it. Two falmer roamed the spot in between the stairs and the gate, but two arrows quickly put an end to it.

She climbed up the stairs to see bronze spikes stoping her from continuing. Her eyes flit around the chamber, looking for a lever or a pull chain to open it, only to rest on a lever on a platform above and behind her, connected to the ground she was on by a natural ramp.

After opening the gate and looting a chest up on the platform, she returned to the gate and went through it, her stomach twisting as she climbed a set of stairs. She tightened her grip on her bow as the sound of steam rushing into the chamber filled the air, and the Dwarven Centurion that was in a recharge station came to life, steam blowing out of every orifice.

She rolled out of the way of a jet of steam, just far enough away to not get hurt but close enough to feel the heat coming off the steam. She growled as she shot an arrow at the piping in its knee; two could play at that game.

“ _FUS RO DAH!_ ”

She expected the Centurion to go flying, but it only staggered back a couple steps, being too heavy to be thrown across the room. She swore under her breath as she knocked another arrow, her body working automatically as she shot arrow after arrow at the metal monstrosity in front of her.

She came out of a roll and shot a well-aimed arrow at the Centurion’s neck. The Animunculi finally fell to the ground, offline and with several arrows in its metal hide that she wouldn’t be able to salvage. Holding a hand on a cut on her left arm, she left it unhealed as she stood up, wanting to preserve the rest of her energy for fights that would most likely happen further through the city.

She went up the next set of stairs, not looking at the still body of the Dwarven Centurion, and swung open the gate at the top. It was a small room, a weird circular device in the middle of it, and two people—one in Imperial armour, the other a Redguard woman in steel plate armour—were arguing with each other, before they started fighting.

Elsebet decided to stay out of it until one killed the other. That turned out to be the Redguard killing the Imperial, then turning on her. After an arrow to the neck, though, she wasn’t going to be doing much.

She suddenly felt hot, and took her cloak off her shoulders, folding it up nicely and placing it in her pack. She then picked up the Redguard’s strange wooden shield and strapped it to her back, being too big for her pack, with her bow over her shoulder.

She turned her attention to the circular device in the middle of the room. There was a pedestal for a small, round object to be placed, and she dug through her pack for the Attunement Sphere Septimus Signus had given her the day before. She quickly checked the Timepiece around her neck—it read four fifteen, though she wasn’t sure if it was the afternoon or morning—and placed the Sphere on the pedestal.

Music started playing, the sound of stone grinding on stone accompanying it. She looked down to see the floor moving downwards, forming steps that started just next to her feet. She didn’t have time to think her decision through—she wanted to get out of Alftand, so she grabbed the Attunement Sphere and quickly descended the stairs, then pushed the door at the bottom open with her right shoulder.

Blackreach was bigger than she expected, the cavern roof towering over her as she walked the length of the stone platform in front of the door leading to Alftand. The air glowed florescent blue, and the faint sounds of falmer and a Dwarven Sphere could be heard over the small chiming of several Nirnroot.

On the metaphorical horizon, she could see a tower jutting into the roof of Blackreach, on the other side of the massive cavern. She made a conscious decision, and descended the stairs onto the cobblestone path that wound its way through Blackreach.

And she bolted.

Bolted through Blackreach, passed the Dwarven Animunculi, passed the falmer and the arrows that whizzed passed her. Had it been a month earlier, she would have been winded halfway through Blackreach, but she had been lucky enough to have to run and walk everywhere that she’d built up her lungs, and she stopped running just as she got to the doors of the Tower of Mzark.

She pushed the doors open, her lungs burning from exertion, to find herself in an elevator. She closed the doors by leaning heavily on them, then stumbled over to the lever in the middle of the floor and pulled it. A jolt was sent through the elevator, and she could feel herself rising—rising to the surface, but not quite.

About five minutes later, the elevator stopped in its tracks in front of an identical metal door, and she pushed it open to find herself in a small trashed laboratory. She didn’t pay it any mind—she needed to get to the Elder Scroll. Risorallen had died so she could get it, and she wasn’t about to let that sacrifice go to waste.

She climbed up a steep spiral walkway surrounding a Dwemer circular thing, her legs metaphorically killing her, her breath burning as she breathed, in and out, in and out. When she got to the top, out of breath and panting, drenched in sweat, she leant heavily on one of the six pillars in front of her, five with buttons and one built to hold a cube. After some digging through her pack, Elsebet produced the Lexicon Signus had given her, and placed it on the sixth pillar. It lit up, and the first two pillar buttons opened up, ready to be pressed.

She had no idea what she was doing when she pressed the button on the second pillar. She let out a squeak as the light-reflecting arms in front of her and above the huge Dwemer sphere moved, light bounding off the walls. She pressed the button again, and the third pedestal’s button turned on.

Obviously she was on the right track, so she continuously pressed that button until the next button opened up, and pressed that. A container made out of crystals descended from the ceiling, then opened up. Quickly taking the Lexicon, its surface now glowing blue, and putting it in her pack, she descended the ramp and climbed onto the massive sphere thing, transfixed on the crystal container in front of her.

An Elder Scroll rested inside it, seeming to taunt her with the power it wielded; power she would never get. Her eyes lit up as she reached for it with both her hands, her fingers wrapping around the ends of the Scroll and lifting it out of the crystal container. It was bigger than she thought it would be, but that didn’t matter. She stuffed it into her pack, dreading the trek back through Blackreach, when a door below the platform housing the pillars caught her eye. She walked towards it, pushing the doors open, to see an elevator at the end of the hall.

She thanked the gods as she entered it, and pulled the lever to take her towards the surface.


	33. Back in Time

Septimus Signus stopped muttering to himself as Elsebet stopped in front of him, red cloak wrapped around her shoulders, holding out the glowing Lexicon for him to grab.

“I’ve inscribed the Lexicon,” she said.

“Give it, quickly,” he said, snatching it from her. “Extraordinary. I see it now. The sealing structure interlocks in the tiniest fractals. Dwemer blood can loose the hooks, but none alive remain to bear it. A panoply of their brethren could form a facsimile. A trick. Something they did not anticipate, no, not even them. The blood of Altmer, Bosmer, Dunmer, Falmer, and Orsimer. The elves still living provide the key.” He dug through his pack and pulled out a weird Dwemer contraption, then handed it to her. “Bear you hence this extractor. It will drink the fresh blood of elves. Come when its set is complete.”

He then ignored her like he wasn’t there.

She grumbled, just wanting to get the Elder Scroll back to Paarthurnax, and trudged up the natural ramp leading to the exit.

Only to be blocked by a writhing mass of tentacles and eyeballs.

She screamed and jumped back, hand going to her bow. The grotesque being didn’t do anything except blink slowly at her, then started talking extremely slowly.

“Come closer,” it said, its voice vaguely masculine. “Bask in my presence.”

“Who are you?” She asked, slightly terrified but not showing it.

“I am Hermaeus Mora,” he said, his tone slightly condescending. She almost growled; she didn’t have time to deal with another Daedric Prince. “I am the guardian of the unseen, and knower of the unknown. I have been watching you, mortal. Most impressive.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you want with me?”

“Your continuing aid to Septimus renders him increasingly obsolete. He has served me well, but his time is nearing its end. Once that infernal lockbox is opened, he will have exhausted his usefulness to me. When that time comes, you will take his place as his emissary. What say you?”

Elsebet really didn’t have time for this, what with the world ending and all. But, the grotesque mass of tentacles and eyeballs was a Daedric Prince, and it would be foolish to anger a Daedric Prince.

So, she sighed. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your emissary.”

“Indeed,” Hermaeus Mora said, his voice still condescending. “Speak with me when the box has been opened, and all shall be revealed.”

He began to fade, until he was no more. She sighed in relief, and made her way through the tunnel that lead to the ladder, leading to the outside world.

* * *

 

It took a while to get to Winterhold. A lot of it was Elsebet delaying the inevitable; her telling Aletara that her brother was dead, and the Imperial woman informing the rest of her siblings. They’d all go to the funeral, with no body, and they would most likely hate her, even though she doesn’t know the youngest Belinius sibling, Arcaelo.

When she did finally get to the College of Winterhold, the sun was high in the sky on that Morndas day, exactly five weeks after the dragons returned.

She kept her head bowed as she entered the College grounds, after selling off all the junk she’d found in Alftand at Birna’s Oddments. She could see the happiness radiating off the students, and she vaguely saw Hjolma and Advard waving at her, then rushing over. She didn’t hear them as they tried to talk to her, her mind preoccupied with what she was going to say to Aletara.

As usual, Aletara was in the Arcanaeum, bent over a book about dragons for her latest thesis. She looked up as they approached, a grin on her face as she saw who it was. It fell, though, when she saw Elsebet’s expression and the lack of Risorallen.

She stood up, knocking the chair she was on back with he back of her legs. “Did you get the Elder Scroll?” She asked. “Where’s Risorallen?”

The Nord looked at her, tears threatening to spill out of puffy red eyes, and Aletara knew. She knew what she was going to say before it left her mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

Aletara covered her mouth with shaky hands, eyes wide in disbelief, shaking her head, not wanting to believe it. Behind Elsebet, Hjolma and Advard glanced at each other sadly, and Kyrun stopped to look at them, his familiar curled around his heels.

“There was nothing I could do.”

Aletara lowered her hands to her sides, hands balled into fists, and red-rimmed eyes glared at Elsebet as she seethed with anger. “ _You could have done something_.”

Her voice was filled with a venom she hadn’t heard before, and it caused her to take a step back.

“ _He was my brother!_ ” She yelled, causing Urag to yell at them to quiet down. “And you left him to _die!_ ”

Tears spilled over Elsebet’s cheeks. “He was stabbed through the chest by a falmer,” she said, ignoring her pleas not to tell her how her brother died. “He was dead before he hit the ground.”

Aletara fell to her knees, sobs wracking her body as she covered her face with her hands, her cries muffled by her flesh. Elsebet kneeled in front of her and placed a hand on her shoulder, and the grieving Imperial latched onto her, digging her face into the crook of her neck. Elsebet let her stay there, and gently rocked her as she cried all the tears she could. People stared at them, but harsh looks from the Dragonborn caused them to scurry away quickly.

It was not the time for gawkers. Aletara had just lost her brother, and had to mourn in peace.

Aletara wiped the tears from her eyes and sat back on her heels. She looked at Elsebet, her eyes rimmed in red, and let out a shaky breath. “Thank you,” she said, “for telling me.”

* * *

Elsebet stared at Paarthurnax as she crawled over the peak of the mountain, her eyes as cold as the snow at her feet. The Elder Scroll poked over her right shoulder, and the old dragon seemed to shudder as he looked at it.

“You have it,” he said as she neared him. “The _Kel_ —the Elder Scroll. _Tood kreh… qalos._ Time shudders at its touch. There is no question. You are doom-driven. _Kogaan_ Akatosh. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal.” He sighed. “Go then. Fulfil your destiny. Take the Scroll to the Time-Wound. Do not delay. Alduin will be coming. He cannot miss the signs.”

Elsebet turned and slowly marched towards the Time-Wound, near the broken Word War. _Alduin will be coming_. That sent a shiver down her spine. She wasn’t ready to face him yet, but it was obvious that the black dragon was ready to face her. At least—he was forced to, like she was.

She stood in front of the Time-Wound, feeling the full-force of Time itself as she pulled the Elder Scroll off her back. A stray tear fell down her cheek as she stepped into the rippling air, and all her breath was pulled out of her as Time wanted to send her adrift. She stood her ground, though, and forced herself to open the Elder Scroll.

Her whole body shuddered, and it took all her abilities to stop herself flying down the currents of Time. Her vision changed, as well; she was still on the Throat of the World, but the sky was red, and the shadow of a dragon flying over the mountain swallowed the white mountain drenched in blood. There were dead dragons strewn across the mountain, and the dragon landed heavily in front of three warriors—a woman dressed in steel plate armour, an old man in wizards robes, and a man in scaled armour.

The dragon, Grobahkras, glared at them and spoke. “ _Daar sul thur se Alduin vokrii._ Today Alduin’s lordship will be restored. But I honour your courage. _Krif voth ahkrin._ Die now, in vain.”

The man in the scaled armour raised his battleaxe over his head and charged at the dragon, dodging out of the way when Grobahkras let out a jet of fire that melted the snow it touched. He swung the battleaxe at the dragon’s head while it snapped at him, dodging and backing away whenever the dragon tried to strike. He had landed several good blows on its snout when the woman in the steel plate armour charged at the dragon, sword in hand.

She gripped one of Grobahkras’s horns and jumped onto the dragon’s head, using the horn to keep herself on her moving target. She slashed at the dragon’s snout, and it soon buckled, dead. She jumped off just as it crashed to the ground and, unlike all the dragons Elsebet had killed, kept its soul as it rested in the blood-soaked snow and water.

“Hakon!” The woman crowed, a grin on her face as she wiped dragon blood off her cheek. “A glorious day, is it not!”

Hakon, the young man, shook his head in disappointment as the woman sheathed her blade. “Have you no thought beyond the blooding of your blade, Gormlaith?”

She laughed “What else is there?”

Hakon ignored the comment and walked to the edge of the mountain, next to the familiar Word Wall that was full. “The battle below goes ill. If Alduin does not rise to our challenge, I fear all may be lost.”

“You worry too much, brother,” Gormlaith said, crossing her arms over her armoured chest. “Victory will be ours.”

Hakon turned to his sister, a distraught look on his face. “Why does Alduin hang back?” He glared at the old man in grey robes. “We’ve staked everything on this plan of yours, old man.”

“He will come,” the old man said, his beard blowing in the strong wind that seemed to accompany tops of mountains. “He cannot ignore our defiance. And why should he fear us, even now?”

Gormlaith nodded. “We’ve bloodied him well. Four of his kin have fallen to my blade alone this day.”

The old man shook his head. “But none have yet stood against Alduin himself. Galthor, Sorri, Birkir…”

The woman’s eyes glinted hungrily, thirsting for blood. “They did not have Dragonrend. Once we bring him down, I promise I will have his head.”

The old man looked troubled, and the tone of his voice was one of pleading. “You do not understand. Alduin cannot be slain like a lesser dragon. He is beyond our strength.” He pulled something off his back that Elsebet hadn’t seen earlier. “Which is why I brought the Elder Scroll.”

Hakon and Gormlaith let out shrieks.

“Felldir! We agreed not to use it!” Hakon yelled at him, looking wild at the Scroll.

Felldir shook his head. “I never agreed.” He put it back on his back. “And if you are right, I will not need it.”

“No!” Hakon said stubbornly. “We will deal with Alduin ourselves, here and now.”

A wild grin appeared on Gormlaith’s face as she looked at the horizon. “We will see soon enough. Alduin approaches!”’

The big black dragon himself flew over the peak of the mountain and landed on the Word Wall, his red eyes full of pure evil as he stared down the Nordic Heroes.

“ _Meyye! Tahrodiis aanne! Him hinde pah liiv! Zu’u hin daan!_ ” Alduin shouted, speaking to the three mortals in front of him, all of them looking like ants compared to his massive size. He Shouted at the sky, wordlessly, like he didn’t need it.

It terrified Elsebet.

“Let those that watch us from Sovngarde envy us this day!” Gormlaith cried, brandishing her sword like it was an extension of her arm.

Alduin launched himself into the sky as meteors, much like those at Helgen, rained down from the sky, and the Nord Heroes Shouted in unison, as one, at the World-Eater.

“ _JOOR ZAH FRUL!_ ”

The bright blue light hit Alduin square on, and Elsebet felt power surging through her veins as the knowledge of this man-made Shout coursed through her, trying to recognise its newest user after centuries of being dormant. She let it course through her as Alduin fell to the ground heavily,after a struggle to keeping in the skies he was so used to. The unused dragon souls within her coiled, but didn’t do anything as Dragonrend became accustomed to her body, and she became accustomed to the power it gave her.

“ _Nivahriin joorre!_ What have you done? What twisted Words have you created?! _Tahrodiis_ Paarthurnax. My teeth to his neck!” Aladdin seemed to get a control of his anger, because he turned his red eyes to the Nord Heroes around him. “But first… _dir ko mar_. You will die in terror, knowing your final fate… To feed my power when I come for you in Sovngarde!”

Gormlaith stepped forward and held her blade in front of her. “If I die today, it will not be in terror!” She started striking at Alduin’s snout as Hakon and Felldir Shouted Dragonrend again, keeping Alduin on the ground like a mortal. “You feel fear for the first time, worm. I see it in your eyes. Skyrim will be free!”

Famous last words, they say.

Alduin reared his head, and brought his mouth over Gormlaith and snapped down, biting the top half of her body. He swung her into the sky, shaking her until her back broke, then threw her across the mountain and down the side of the Throat of the World.

If she hadn’t died in the maw of that beast, the fall would’ve killed her.

“No, damn you!” Hakon said, anger filling him as he watched his sister go over the side of the mountain. He lifted his battleaxe and started attacking Alduin, but he knew it was fruitless. He hazarded a glance towards Felldir. “It’s no use! Use the Scroll, Felldir! Now!”

While Hakon continued attacking Alduin, Dragonrend starting to dissipate, Felldir hung back from the fight and opened the Elder Scroll. He recited a chant he’d obviously learnt by heart.

“Hold, Alduin on the Wing! Sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract heard! Begone, World-Eater! By words with older bones than your own we break your perch on this age and send you out! You are banished! Alduin, we send you out from all our endings unto the last!”

Alduin went to send a stream of fire at Felldir, but Hakon hit him in the side of his snout, sending his head to the side.

A green vortex appeared around Alduin, and he looked around, confused. “ _Faal Kel…?! Nikrinne…_ ” The vortex began to close, and when it vanished, Alduin was gone, sent on the currents of Time.

“You are banished!” Felldir yelled at the empty space Alduin had inhabited just a moment before.

Hakon stared at where Alduin disappeared. “ You did it… He’s gone.”

“Yes, the World-Eater is gone…” Felldir said, almost mournfully. “May the spirits have mercy on our souls."

The vision ended, and she was back on the Throat of the World. The snow was falling softly, the sky was bright—

And Alduin was beating his black wings in front of her, his red eyes on hers.


	34. I Know a Lot of Dragons

Alduin stared down at Elsebet, his red eyes set in a glare that sent a stab of fear go up and down her body.

“ _Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor,_ ” Alduin said, his voice deep and a lot more terrifying than when it was in real life than the vision she’d had of the past. “My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin. Die now, and await your fate in Sovngarde!”

He flew over the top of Elsebet and circled her. He let out a jet of fire at Elsebet, but she ran out of the way, the snow melted wherever the flames met the cold substance. She skidded to a stop as the flames died out.

Alduin hovered above her, ready to send another wave of fire at her when she planted her foot behind her and said three words he hadn’t heard in a long time.

“ _JOOR ZAH FRUL!_ ”

The power coursed through her veins and left her body, heading towards Alduin. It encircled him, entrapping him and pulling him towards the ground as he tried to beat his wings against it. He was getting weaker, though, and Elsebet unsheathed Dragonbane as he landed heavily on the ground in front of her.

She launched herself forward, Dragonbane brandished in her hand as she let out a war cry. She threw the blade downwards, striking him on the snout as he went to snap at her. She rolled out of the way and back onto her feet, next to its giant head. Flames from Paarthurnax hit Alduin dead-on as Dragonrend started dissipating. Elsebet Shouted the Words again, keeping him on the ground so they could attack him.

He kept snapping at Elsebet as Paarthurnax kept breathing his fire on the big black dragon. Elsebet dodged every snap he made at her, attacking with Dragonrend and Dragonbane. After a couple minutes of that, though, Elsebet was getting tired, and it was shown in her attacks.

Alduin let out a bellowing laugh, and his tail came over his head, quick as a whistle, and pierced the end through her left shoulder, breaking the armour she wore. She let out a scream as Alduin pulled his tail out of her shoulder, slick with her blood, and lowered it behind him again. Paarthurnax circled him once and landed on the Word Wall, ready to send a fireball at him.

“ _Meyz mul_ , Dovahkiin. You have become strong,” Alduin said, his voice rumbling. “But I am Al-du-in, Firstborn of Akatosh! _Mulaagi zok lot!_ I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else! You cannot prevail against me. I will outlast you… mortal!”

He launched himself into the air, flying east. Elsebet was powerless as she watched him fade into the distance, and she cursed herself for getting tired.

“ _Lot krongrah_. You truly have the Voice of a _Dovah_. Alduin’s allies will think twice after this victory,” Paarthurnax said from his perch on the broken Word War, making Elsebet look over at him.

“It wasn’t really a victory, since Alduin escaped,” she said, her voice solemn.

“ _Ni liivrah hin mere_ ,” he said. “True, this is not the final _krongah_ —victory. But not even the heroes of old were able to defeat Alduin in open battle. Alduin always was _pahlok_ —arrogant in his power. _Uznahgar paar_. He took domination as his birthright. This should shake the loyalty of the _dov_ who serve him.”

She nodded, a little bit of hope filling her. “I need to find out where Alduin went.”

“Yes… one of his allies could tell us. _Motmahus_ … but it will not be easy to… convince one of them to betray him. Perhaps the _hofkahsejun_ —the palace in Whiterun… Dragonsreach. It was originally built to house a captive _dovah_. A fine place to trap one of Alduin’s allies, hmm?”

Elsebet scoffed. “The Jarl of Whiterun might not think so.”  
  
He hummed. “Hmm, yes. But your su’um is strong. I do not doubt you could convince him of the need.”

“Dragonsreach was built to hold a dragon?”

The dragon nodded. “Yes. This was ages ago, you understand. There were more of us then. Before the _bruniike_ —the Akaviri—came and killed all my _zeymah_. I used to visit him from time to time. Nearly crazed by loneliness and captivity. _Tiiraz sivaas_. He did not even remember his own name.” He sighed. “I do not know how he became to be caught. But the _bronjun_ … the Jarl… Was very proud of his pet. _Paak!_ The _hofkahsejun_ has been known as Dragonsreach ever since.”

Elsebet pulled her cloak around her shoulders as the snow began to fall. “I’m scared.”

“You have every right to be,” Paarthurnax said, his voice soft despite it having no indication beforehand that it could even _get_ that soft.

“What if it doesn’t work?” She looked up at him, her mismatched eyes wide with fear. “What if, after everything I’ve been through, after everything I’ve sacrificed, what if it’s all for nothing? What if he wins and Lydia and Risorallen died for nothing?”

Paarthurnax shook his head. “Do not think like that, _goraan gein_. Once you get into that mindset, it is hard to get out of.”

Elsebet nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you soon, Paarthurnax.”

“As I you, Dovahkiin."

* * *

 

It had been a while since Elsebet had set foot in Whiterun, though she knew it hadn’t really been that long. The last time was when she went to Lydia’s funeral with Risorallen and a couple friends they’d made along the way. She didn’t have any family, so it was only them.

She shook her head of the thought as she trudged passed Jorrvaskr and up the stairs leading to Dragonsreach. A guard nodded at her as she passed, and she nodded back, probably making his day. His helmet-less face was illuminated by the torch in his hand, as the sun had set about an hour earlier.

Elsebet pushed one of the massive doors leading into Dragonsreach open with her shoulder, entering the entrance hall. It was easier to do it than she remembered, but she had been getting stronger what with her almost-constant fighting over the last month and a week.

Jarl Balgruuf was sitting on his throne, obviously deep in thought as he drummed his fingers on the wooden arm. He looked up as she approached, confusion on his face.

“What are you doing here?” He asked. “Don’t you have a world to save?”

She was tempted to tell him that he was very arrogant, but she needed his help, so she help back the retort that was at the tip of her tongue and instead said: “I need your help, but you’re not going to like it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Surely it can’t be that bad. What is it you need?”

“I need to trap a dragon in your palace.”

Aventus Avenicci, the Jarl’s steward, did a spit-take with the water he had been drinking at the head of the table closest to them. “ _What?!_ ”

Jarl Balgruuf stared at her for a second. “I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood you. I thought you asked me to help trap a dragon in my palace.”

She sighed. “You know I wouldn’t ask you unless it was important.”

“Of course,” he said, nodding. “You already saved Whiterun from that dragon. I owe you a great deal. But I don’t understand. Why let a dragon in the heart of my city when we’ve been working so hard to keep them out?”

“The threat is worse than you know,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, not wanting him to know the anxiety she had about him refusing to help. “Alduin has returned.”

The Jarl’s eyes widened, his jaw going slack as he gripped the arm of his throne dangerously tight. She was afraid he was going to break it. “Alduin? The World-Eater himself? But… how can we fight him? Doesn’t his return mean it’s the end of times?”

“I’m Dragonborn. It’s my destiny to stop him.”

“She’s the Dragonborn?” She vaguely heard someone say in the distance. “She’s barely a woman, and as thin as beggar.”

She sent a glare his way, causing him to inhale sharply at the deadliness in her eyes. The Thane cleared his throat and made an excuse to his friend, before hightailing it out of the hall.

She looked back at the Jarl, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t know about such things,” he said, “but I heard the Greybeards summon you. That’s good enough for me. Now, what’s this nonsense about trapping a dragon in my palace?”

“It’s the only way to stop Alduin before it’s too late.”

The Jarl rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to figure out what to do. “I want to help you, Dragonborn. And I will. But I need your help first. Ulfric and General Tullius are both just waiting for me to make the wrong move. Do you think they will sit idly by while a dragon is slaughtering my men and burning my city?” He shook his head, slamming a fist onto the arm of his throne. “No. I can’t risk weakening my city while we are under the threat of enemy attack. I’m sorry.”

She wanted to yell at him—tell him that a city being weakened was nothing compared to what was going to happen if she didn’t stop Alduin. That she was not going to let Lydia and Risorallen die in vain just because he couldn’t risk one _fucking_ city when the whole _world_ was being threatened by something much more deadly than two sides of a civil war.

But she didn’t. She would’ve been thrown in jail, even if she was both a Thane and the Dragonborn. She wanted to cry, too, but she didn’t do that either. Everyone that knew who she was was waiting for her to slip up, to show them that she wasn’t the hero of legend, mostly because she was a woman. She knew what everyone thought the Dragonborn was; a warrior who had been raised from birth to fight and stay true to his lineage—keyword being _his_.

She wasn’t the warrior everyone wanted her to be, but she was going to show them she was better than what a _man_ could ever be. She’d lost people in the month she’d known about who— _what_ —she really was, and she’d done stuff she never thought she’d ever do, like kill someone and actually enter a Dwemer ruin, which she’d learned were very dangerous.

A thought entered her mind then, and she put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at the Jarl. “What if you didn’t have to worry about an enemy attack?”

He hesitated, and when he spoke his words were slow, like he didn’t want to say them. “Then I would be glad to help you with your mad dragon-trapping scheme. But getting both sides to agree to a truce will be difficult at this point. The bitterness has gone too deep. Maybe… hmm… what of the Greybeards? They are respected by all Nords. High Hrothgar is neutral territory.”

Elsebet wasn’t going to be the one to break it to him that General Tullius was an Imperial, not a Nord. She let him continue speaking while she bit the inside of her cheek.

“If the Greybeards were willing to host a peace council… then maybe Ulfric and Tullius would have to listen.”

She wanted to groan. She had _just been_ to High Hrothgar, earlier that day. “Leave that to me. I’ll talk to Arngeir about hosting a peace council.”

He nodded. “Aye, Dragonborn. Maybe you can stop the dragons—and this war into the bargain.”

She bowed at him and turned to leave. The steward, Proventus, caught her eye, and she remembered that she and Risorallen were going to buy a house in Whiterun together, once they got the time.

They never did.

She made her way over to him.

“Can I help you?” He asked.

“I’d like to buy a house.”

Proventus placed the fork he had been eating with next to his plate and stood up. “Of course. If you could just follow me, I’ll get everything sorted for you.”


	35. Angry Words From an Angry Dragonborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while since I've updated! Life's been in the way, so I haven't really had time for myself. But here you are! Hopefully, I'll get next chapter out on Wednesday.

Solitude was just how Elsebet remembered it: big and full of people. Very big and full of a fuckton of people. She hated crowds. It was one of the only things she liked about Winterhold; there weren’t many people there, despite how big it had been before the Great Collapse. 

She pushed her way through the throng of people in the marketplace, buying their weekly groceries or just things they want, heading towards Castle Dour, where General Tullius used for the Imperial Legion’s base of operations in Skyrim to defeat the Stormcloak rebellion.

Master Arngeir had accepted to hold the peace council, after a bit of hesitation and some prodding from the Dragonborn, so she was going to try and convince the General to attend. She had decided to go to General Tullius first because she wasn’t ready to see Ulfric Stormcloak again. She was still a little shaken up from when he had ambushed her in the Temple of Talos in Windhelm, when she was healing from her bite wound.

She scratched at the acne on her forehead as she broke free of the crowd. It had been hot, surrounded by those people, so she had taken off her cloak and placed it in her pack—which was significantly lighter than the last time she had been to Solitude, seeing as how she had dropped off all the stuff she wanted to keep at her new house in Whiterun, Breezehome—and now, being out of the crowd, she wished she hadn’t. She was too lazy to put it on though, so she just stubbornly marched through the guard’s training yard and into Castle Dour, ignoring the men posted outside the doors.

General Tullius was talking with one of his soldiers, a Legate, by the looks of the armour, in a war room at the end of the hall. He looked up at her as she entered the small room, an eyebrow raised at her. “Do the guards just let anyone into Castle Dour these days?”

Elsebet crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head to the side. “I’m not just anyone, General.” At his confusion, she elaborated. “I was at Helgen.”

The Legate widened her eyes as General Tullius kept his eyes on the Dragonborn. “You were? Oh right, I remember you. The bandits attacked you, and you accompanied us to Helgen.”

She dug her nails into her palms, making indentations as she tried to keep a straight face.

“Speak to Legate Rikke, if you’re sure you want to join the Legion,” he said. “It’s a tough life, but…” He looked her up and down, “I think you’ll fit right in.”

“I’m not here to join the Legion,” Elsebet said.

“Then why are you here?”

She dropped her arms, resting a hand on the pommel of Dragonbane. “I have a message from the Greybeards.”

He raised his brow. “The Greybeards? What would those old hermits want with me?”

“They’re convening a peace council at High Hrothgar.”

He scoffed. “Why? There’s nothing to discuss as long as that traitor Ulfric is in arms against his rightful Emperor.”

She shook her head. “We need a truce until the dragon menace is dealt with.”

He thought for a second. “They are getting to be a problem.” He shook his head. “But I wasn’t sent to Skyrim to fight dragons. My job is to quell this rebellion, and I intend to do just that, dragons or no dragons.”

She let out a huff, annoyed with his stubbornness. Was that how she was? “The dragons are a bigger problem than the Stormcloaks right now.”

“You may have a point,” he said. “It’s getting difficult to even move troops around without attracting a dragon attack. By all accounts the Stormcloaks are suffering just as badly. Even Ulfric might see the sense of a truce under these conditions.”

Her mood skyrocketed. “You’ll come to the peace council, then?”

He nodded, albeit begrudgingly. “Yes. Yes, fine, I’ll come to this Greybeard council. For all the good it will do.”

She smiled at him, catching him off guard, and turned on her heel before marching out of Castle Dour. She took the long trek from the Castle to the stables down at the bottom of the hill Solitude rested, in higher spirits now that General Tullius had agreed to go to the council. All she needed to do was convince Ulfric Stormcloak to go as well, and she could be trapping Alduin’s lackey by the end of the week.

* * *

Elsebet had never been inside the Palace of the Kings, and she didn’t plan on going in it again. It was musty and smelled of fish, but that could’ve been from the docks not far from the castle. As she stood in the entrance of the Palace, the heavy doors being pulled closed by the guards stationed on either side of the massive double doors, she could see where Ulfric Stormcloak was lounging on his stone throne, talking lowly with his housecarl, the same one that had been there when Ulfric had ambushed her in the Temple of Talos.

She made her way down the hall, her cloak flowing behind her as her boots clicked on the stone floor, alerting the Jarl and his housecarl to her presence long before she reached him. She stopped in front of them as they stared at her.

“Have you thought about my offer?” Jarl Ulfric asked almost lazily, like she was one of his servants.

“The answer is no, Jarl Ulfric,” she said. “I don’t have time to fight in a civil war while the dragons are still alive.”

He hummed, obviously annoyed with her. When he spoke, his voice was harsher than it had been before. “Then why are you here?”

“I have a message from the Greybeards.”

He smirked. “It’s about time they turned their gaze from the heavens, back to our bleeding homeland. What do they want?”

“They want to negotiate a truce until the dragon menace is dealt with.”

“I have the greatest respect for the Greybeards, of course,” he said, sitting up straighter on his throne. “And the dragons are a growing plague. But the political situation is still delicate. Not all the Jarls are fully committed to supporting me as High King. I can’t afford to appear weak. I can’t agree unless Tullius himself will be there.”

A spark of anger shot through her. Why was he thinking about _politics_ while there were dragons eating people? “Politics be damned. Alduin has returned!”

The Jarl froze, eyes wide as he stared at Elsebet. “Alduin? The World-Eater of song and legend? If that’s true… well, it changes the situation, doesn’t it? Even Tullius may be forced to talk sense in the face of such a threat.”

“That’s exactly what he said about you. Are you coming to the peace council?”

He nodded. “Yes. I’ll give Tullius one more chance to quit Skyrim with his tail between his legs.”

She turned on her heel to leave.

“Dragonborn?”

She grit her teeth and turned back around to Jarl Ulfric. “Yes, Jarl Ulfric?” She didn’t want to use pleasantries, but seeing as how he was a Jarl, it wouldn’t look good if she cursed him out in front of everyone.

“Why don’t you accompany me to High Hrothgar?” He asked. “We’re both headed there, and it’ll be a waste if you have to travel by yourself. What happened to your two companions?”

She stood there for a second, not doing anything, trying to push the memories of their deaths out of her head. “They died.”

He tilted his head slightly. “What a shame. Galmar, get everything ready. We leave in an hour.”

* * *

The ride to High Hrothgar was silent, mostly. For the first hour, Ulfric Stormcloak had asked Elsebet questions, but had quickly stopped as her tone became more harsh the more personal the questions got. At dusk, five hours after they had left Windhelm, Jarl Ulfric and Galmar, his housecarl, had set up a camp, although it was only seven in the evening, according to the timepiece Kyrun had given her.

It was only the three of them, which had surprised Elsebet. She had expected some of the guards to accompany them, but when she had asked Jarl Ulfric, he had said that the three of them were enough to handle any threats that came their way.

At about eight the following morning, they arrived in Ivarstead, and it was obvious by the Imperial soldiers scattered around town that General Tullius was already up the mountain. It took six hours to get up the mountain, as opposed to the five it took when she was by herself, which was usually shortened whenever she remembered about her Whirlwind Sprint Shout.

They arrived inside the stone monastery at two-thirty in the afternoon. The Greybeards were waiting for them, and Masters Bori and Einarth escorted Ulfric and Galmar to the peace room, leaving Elsebet alone with Master Arngeir, as Master Wulfgar wasn't there.

“So you’ve done it,” Master Arngeir said, catching Elsebet’s attention. “The men of violence are gathered here, in these halls whose very stones are dedicated to peace.” He shook his head. “I should not have agreed to host this council. The Greybeards have no business involving ourselves in such matters.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll get them to agree to peace.”

He scoffed. “Peace? I doubt it. They may put their weapons down for a moment, but only to gather strength for the next bloodletting. They are not yet tired of war. Far from it. Do you know the ancient Nord word for war? ‘Season unending’… so it has proved.” He sighed. “But regrets are pointless. Here we are. Take your seat at the council table and let us see what wisdom we can find among these warriors of Skyrim.”

Master Arngeir led the way to the council room, where there were nine people around the table. She could recognise Jarl Ulfric, Galmar, General Tullius, Legate Rikke, Jarl Balgruuf and, surprisingly, Esbern, Delphine, and Elenwen. The only one she didn’t know was a woman dressed in finery, a circlet placed in her intricately designed hair. She was young, too, about mid- to late-twenties.

She stood behind the chair at the end of the table, as everyone else was standing up, behind their own chairs.

Master Arngeir, standing behind his own chair at the opposite end of the circular table, began speaking. “Now that everyone is here, please take your seats so we can begin.”

Everyone sat down in their respective seats, except the two Stormcloaks that were invited.

Jarl Ulfric scowled. “You dare bring _her_ here? Your chief Talos hunter?”

“That didn’t take long,” Legate Rikke mumbled under her breath.

On the opposite side of the table, Elenwen sneered and crossed her arms over her chest. “I have every right to be at this negotiation. I need to ensure that nothing is agreed to here that violates the terms of the White-Gold Concordat.”

“She’s part of the Imperial delegation,” General Tullius said. “You can’t dictate who I bring to this council.”

“Please,” Master Arngeir said, his annoyance very clear in his voice. “If we have to negotiate the terms of the negotiation, we will never get anywhere.” He looked at Elsebet, who didn’t want to be there right now. “Perhaps this would be a good time to get the Dragonborn’s input on this matter.”

Jarl Ulfric took a step towards Elsebet. “By Ysmir’s beard, the nerve of those Imperial bastards, eh? To think that I would sit down at the same table with that… Thalmor bitch. Either she walks or I do.”

Elsebet hated the Thalmor, especially after what happened at the Thalmor Embassy. They had tried to kill her, and she had successfully kill them, so she didn’t think it’d be a good idea for the _leader_ of the Thalmor to be at the peace council.

“The Thalmor have no business here,” she said, sending a glare at Elenwen.

She didn’t see the smirk on Jarl Ulfric’s face, but she could hear it as he spoke. “I’m glad we agree on this.”

Elenwen placed her hands on the table and pushed herself up to her feet. “Very well. Enjoy your petty victory. The Thalmor will treat with whatever government rules Skyrim. We would not think of interfering in your _civil war_.”

“Ha!” Galmar laughed, his voice gravelly. “Skyrim will never bow to the Thalmor! Unlike your Imperial friends here.”

Elenwen marched out of the council room as Legate Rikke jumped onto her feet. “You’re lucky I respect the Greybeards’ council, Galmar!”

“Legate,” General Tullius warned. “We represent the Emperor here.”

She sank back into the chair. “Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

Master Arngeir sighed. “Now that that’s settled, may we proceed?”

“I have something to say first,” Jarl Ulfric said, he and Galmar finally sitting down.

Legate Rikke rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”

Jarl Ulfric ignored the Legate. “The only reason I agreed to this council was to deal with the dragon menace. There’s nothing else to talk about, unless the Empire is finally ready to renounce its unjust claim over the free people of Skyrim.”

“I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist,” Legate Rikke mumbled. 

“We’re here to arrange a temporary truce to allow the Dragonborn here to deal with the dragons. Nothing more. I consider even talking to the Empire a generous gesture.”

“Are you done?” General Tullius asked him, anger in his voice. “Did you just come here to make speeches? Or can we get down to business?”

Jarl Ulfric rolled his eyes. “Yes, let’s get this over with.”

“Are we ready to proceed?” Master Arngeir asked everyone. When no one said anything, he continued. “Jarl Ulfric. General Tullius. This war council is unprecedented. We are gathered here at the Dragonborn’s request. I ask that you all respect the spirit of High Hrothgar, and do you best to begin the process of achieving everlasting peace in Skyrim. Who would like to open the negotiations?”

“Yes, let’s get down to it.” Jarl Ulfric crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat. “We want control of Markarth. That’s our price for agreeing to a truce.”

The woman Elsebet still didn’t know glared at the Jarl. “So that’s why you’re here, Ulfric? You dare to insult the Greybeards by using this council to advance your own position?”

“Jarl Elisif,” General Tullius interrupted. “I’ll handle this.”

Jarl Elisif. Elisif the Fair, Jarl of Solitude and the wife of the late Torygg, the last High King of Skyrim. She’d never met the woman, but she’d always wanted to.

Jarl Elisif turned to the General. “General, this is an outrage! You can’t be taking this demand seriously! I thought we were here to discuss a truce!”

“Elisif! I said I’d handle it.” The General looked away from the woman sitting next to him and across the table at Jarl Ulfric. “Ulfric, you can’t seriously expect us to give up Markarth at the negotiating table. You hope to gain in council what you’ve been unable to take in battle, is that it?”

Arngeir interrupted before it could become another argument. “I’m sure Jarl Ulfric does not expect something for nothing.”

“Yes, that’d be entirely out of character,” Legate Rikke said sarcastically.

“General, you honestly expect me to believe you’ll hand over Markarth to that… traitor!”

“This is how the Empire repays us for our loyalty?” Jarl Balgruuf asked. It was the first time he’d spoken since Elsebet had been in the room.

General Tullius slammed his hands onto the table. “Enough! First, let’s be clear. This council wasn’t my idea. I think it’s a waste of time. You are a traitor to the Empire, and deserve a traitor’s death. But I at least will negotiate in good faith.” He looked at Elsebet. “Since we’re all here at your request, I’d like to hear what you think Markarth is worth.”

“How about Riften?” She asked. “It’s bordered on Cyrodiil, so you’ll be able to get more Legionnaires into Skyrim, and it’s the hold south of Eastmarch.”

The General hummed, a small smirk forming on his face. “I like it.”

“He’s not having Riften,” Jarl Ulfric said.

She raised a shoulder. “Why not? You want Markarth.”

“I thought you were on _my_ side,” he said. “Then you give our enemy a key city of ours?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. Did he seriously think that she was on _his_ side? She wasn’t on any side, but if she had to choose, she’d choose the Imperials, hands-down.

“Let’s make one thing perfectly clear,” she said, sending a glare at the Jarl of Windhelm. “I’m not on _anyone’s_ side, especially yours. Skyrim was doing fine before you decided that you wanted to play king and _murdered_ High King Torygg. Do you even realise that the Thalmor are manipulating you?” She looked away from Jarl Ulfric and at General Tullius. “Both of you? When I infiltrated their embassy I found a lot of information that I was better off not knowing. 

“You know the Prophecy of the Dragonborn? The one with all the towers and Alduin awakening? The last tower to fall is the Snow tower, and that’s _Skyrim_. The Thalmor _want_ this war to continue, for it to break this country in half so that they can fuel some plan they have. _I_ don’t even know what this plan is, but I know it’s nothing good. So this petty squabble between you two is getting out of hand, and you’re only letting the Thalmor win the more you fight.

“So, yes, the Imperials get Riften. You get Markarth. But I hope you two realise how childish this war is before you play into the hands of the Thalmor. I’m only here to defeat Alduin; nothing more, nothing less. And you will be _happy_ with the choices because if the negotiations don’t end now, on even ground, I am going to Shout both of you to Oblivion, and I am going to _enjoy it_.”

She hadn’t realised she had stood up and leant over the table until she stopped talking. She stood up straight and glanced between the two of them, who were looking at her with surprise, not expecting the rant she gave them.

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Fine,” Jarl Ulfric said. “They can have Riften. But know this: you’ve made a powerful enemy today. Someday, you won’t be glad you did.”

She stared at him, face straight, and said in an even voice: “Does it look like I care?” She wanted to use some more colourful language, but she didn’t want to risk it.

“Very well,” Master Arngeir said. “General Tullius will get the Rift, and Jarl Ulfric will get the Reach. Does everyone agree?”

The two sides nodded.

Ulfric stood up. “Come on, Galmar. We have work to do.”

“Jarl Balgruuf,” Elsebet said, standing up as everyone else did and heading to him. “Can we use your palace, now?”

He sighed, but nodded. “Aye. I’m a man of my word. I’ll have the guards ready when you get there.”

He turned on his heel and left the room with everyone else.  
  
“Elsebet!”

She turned around to see Esbern and Delphine walking towards her. “I didn’t expect you two to be here.”

“Honestly, neither did we,” Delphine said. “We got your letters. You really found an Elder Scroll?”

She nodded. “Yup.”

“There is a slight problem with your plan, though,” the Blademaster said. “You don’t have a dragon to trap.”

“I anticipated the problem,” Esbern said. “While you were arranging this meeting, I was busy in the library of Sky Haven Temple. An unguessed trove of lost lore… but the important thing here is that the Blades many of the names of dragons they slew. Cross-referencing this with Delphine’s map of dragon burial sites, and I believe I’ve identified one of the dragons that Alduin had raised up.”

“How does this help us?” Elsebet asked, resting a hand on her dagger’s hilt.

“Ah, don’t you see? The names of dragons are always three Words of Power—Shouts. By calling the dragon with the Voice, he will hear you wherever he might be.”

“Why would he come when called?”

He hesitated for a second. “He’s not compelled to, but dragons are prideful by nature and loathe to refuse a challenge. Your voice in particular is likely to intrigue this dragon, after your victory over Alduin. I think it very likely that he will be unable to resist investigating your call.”

“So what’s this dragon’s name?”

“Ah, indeed,” Esbern said, pulling a scroll out of his pack. “I’m no master of the Voice like these worthy gentlemen, but it is written here in this scroll.” It opened it and read it until he found what he was looking for. “Od - Ah -Viing. ‘Winged Snow Hunter,’ as I read it.” He closed the scroll. “Good luck, Dragonborn. May the gods be with you.”


	36. Why is the Snow Hunter Red?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our beloved Dragonborn meets Odahviing, my second favourite dragon (the first being Durnehviir)! Finally!
> 
> Enjoy!

Elsebet had caught up with Jarl Balgruuf before he got too far, and together, they made their way to Whiterun. As soon as they got there, the Jarl had ordered his troops to get ready while Elsebet went home and dropped off the stuff she was going to keep, then sold the stuff she wasn’t. Then she made her way up to Dragonsreach.

Jarl Balgruuf wasn’t sitting on the throne, like he usually was. Proventus Avenicci pointed her to the Great Porch, where he was waiting with his guards. She nodded her thanks and made her way there.

As promised, Jarl Balgruuf was standing at the other end of the Great Porch, hands gripped around the wooden railing as he looked up at the sky. The sun was setting, casting the sky in an array of purples, reds, and oranges. The two moons, Masser and Secunda, were already high in the sky, Secunda just peeking out from behind its sister.

She walked up to him and looked up as well. The last time she had observed the sky— _properly_ observed it—was the night before Alduin attacked Helgen.

She thought back to that day. She wondered what she would be doing if she hadn’t left Winterhold; she definitely wouldn’t know she was Dragonborn, and Alduin would have free reign over Skyrim—all of Tamriel—with no one to stop him.

It had been her destiny to be in that town the day it all started. Akatosh himself had told her that. But there was something that nagged her whenever she thought about what Akatosh had told her and what had happened to her during the month and a half that she’d been an adventurer—if she knew then what she knew now, would she have left Winterhold? She didn’t know; didn’t want to know.

She looked at Jarl Balgruuf. “Are you ready to spring the trap on the dragon?”

He looked over at her, and she realised that he wasn’t wearing his usual finery; he was dressed for battle, wearing a set of steel plate armour, his axe at his side, his circlet still in his golden hair. “As I promised, my men stand ready. The great chains are oiled. We wait on your word.”

“I’m ready.” She pushed herself away from the railing, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Let’s go trap a dragon.”

Jarl Balgruuf nodded. “My men know what to do. Make sure you do your part. I’m putting my _city_ in your hands.”

She herself nodded, then raised her voice so everyone could hear her. “You might want to stand back. Dragons are huge. This one will _definitely_ fill this place up.” She looked up at the guard standing on the walkway above them. She recognised him; is was K’alen, one of the guards she’d fought Mirmulnir with.

“You ready up there?” She asked, her voice echoing around the Great Porch. “Once he gets under the trap, you need to pull the lever.”

The Redguard nodded, one hand on the pull lever and the other one on the hilt of his sword.

“Good,” she muttered to herself. She made her way back to Jarl Balgruuf, who now stood at the mouth of the Great Porch instead of at the railing. “All that’s left now is to call the dragon.”

She took a deep breath, exhaling through her mouth. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was scared. She’d never _intentionally_ called a dragon to her, and she didn’t even know if he _would_ come, no matter what Esbern said. He could always decline the summons, and she’d have to think of another plan.

She didn’t know what she’d do if he didn’t come.

She placed a foot behind her for stability, and braced herself. As far as she knew, dragon names were different from Words of Power, as she didn’t need to absorb the Words and ‘spend’ souls to unlock it. All she needed to do was Shout his name.

So that’s what she did.

“ _ODAHVIING!_ ”

The Shout rang through the air, and some of the guards around her covered their ears as it echoed deafeningly loud through the Great Porch. Somewhere deep inside her, she knew that the dragon had heard her, it was just a question of if he’d accept the challenge, and when he’d show up.

Several minutes later, when she’d just given up hope that he wasn’t coming, a piercing roar sounded high above the palace. Despite the situation, a grin slowly grin on Elsebet face, and she unsheathed Dragonbane as the sound of wings beating the air rhythmically got closer and closer.

Then a bright red dragon swooped down over the Great Porch, picked up a guard in its massive claws, and threw him off the side of the balcony. His screams were drowned out by another roar, this one more deafening than Elsebet’s Shout.

“Dovahkiin! Here I am!”

Odahviing had arrived.

Elsebet’s next Shout, Dragonrend, flowed through her veins, giving her a power she’d felt only once before, when she’d battled Alduin. Her eyes followed the red dragon as he swooped again, this time letting out a jet of fire instead of throwing a man over the edge. She ran out onto the balcony, sword brandished, trying to use herself as bait to get Odahviing to stay still so she could use the Shout on him.

He shot a fireball at them as he passed again, arrows thumping off the side of him uselessly, dealing no damage to the beast. He eyes landed on Elsebet, and he did a sharp turn before lowering himself in front of her, so there was no chance of her dodging his flames.

As his belly rumbled and filled with fire, three Words—three dreaded Words he had hoped to never hear again—escaped from her mouth and body and semi-solidified in a blue wave of energy, wrapping itself around Odahviing’s body and wings, forcing him towards the ground no matter how much he beat his wings.

“Everyone out of the way!” The Dragonborn shouted in her native tongue, and all the mortal guards around her ran off the balcony and into the outside hall, under shelter.

His were getting heavier and heavier, the beats slowing down, until he was forced to land on the balcony in front of the Dragonborn, as so not to literally fall out of the sky. He tried flapping his wings to lift him up, but he could hardly raise them, the Shout forcing him to become something he was not—something he never will be, not permanently.

Anger coursed through his body, and he launched himself at the Dragonborn, the fire that dwelled in his belly disappearing the more the Shout affected him. But every time he snapped at the Dragonborn, she jumped out of the way, backwards instead of to the sides, like her comrades, almost like she was leading him somewhere…

He realised too late that he had fallen for the same trap his friend, Numinex, had, and the wooden beam fell heavily on the back of his neck, and another snapped over the exposed flesh of the underside of his neck, securing him in place and effectively blocking the part of his throat that filtered the fire from his belly to his maw. He clawed at the trap, but it was useless.

He couldn’t move. He was trapped.

In front of him, the Dragonborn was grinning wildly, a spark of mania in her mismatched eyes.

The mortal guards and the Jarl left their shelter to stare at the captured dragon.

With one of his claws over the bar that held him in place, Odahviing spoke. “ _Zu’u bonaar_ ,” he said, his voice deep like the other dragons, but there was a slight lilt to it that made it differ from other dragon voices she’d heard. “You went through a great deal of trouble to put me in this… humiliatingposition. _Hind siiv_ Alduin, hmm? No doubt you want to know where to find Alduin?”

Elsebet sheathed Dragonbane and crossed her arms over her chest and, despite the fact that she was standing in front of a hostile dragon that could eat her in one bite, she wasn’t scared. She’d faced Alduin and won; Odahviing was nothing.

“That’s right,” she said. “Where is he hiding?”

“ _Rinik vazah_. An apt phrase. Alduin _bovul_. One reason I came was to test your Thu’um for myself. Many of us have begun to question Alduin’s lordship, whether his Thu’um was truly the strongest. Among ourselves, of course. _Mu ni meyye_. None were yet ready to defy him.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You were telling me where to find Alduin?”

“ _Unslaad krosis_. Innumerable pardons. I digress. He has travelled to Sovngarde to regain his strength, devouring the _sillesejoor_ … the souls of the mortal dead. A privilege he jealously guards… His door to Sovngarde is at Skuldafn, one of his ancient fanes high in the eastern mountains.”

Sovngarde. The realm of the Nordic dead. But, if Alduin was there, _eating_ the souls of the dead… She shook her head. No, she couldn’t think about that. Her brother had to be safe. He would’ve found his way into Shor’s Hall, she knew it. She had to believe it.

“ _Mindoraan, pah ok middovahhe lahvraan til._ I surely do not need to warn you that all his remaining strength is marshalled there. _Zu’u lost ofan hin laan_ … now that I have answered your questions, you will allow me to go free?”

Elsebet decided she wanted to push her luck. If needed, she could always kill the dragon in front of her. “Do you promise to serve me?”

Odahviing raised his eye ridges. “ _Aam?_ Serve you? … no. _Ni tiid_. If and when you defeat Alduin, I will reconsider.”

Honestly, she wasn’t expecting that reply. She expected him to try and eat her, not tell her that he might once his current boss was dead.

The dragon hummed. “ _Krosis_. There is one… detail about Skuldafn I neglected to mention.”

“Tell me what you know, then.”

He seemed to smile. “Only this; you have the Thu’um of a dovah, but without the wings of one, you will never set foot on Skuldafn. Of course… I could fly you there. But not while imprisoned like this.”

She thought for a moment, before she sighed and looked the dragon in the eyes. “Fine. I’ll set you free if you promise to take me to Skuldafn.”

“ _Onikaan koraav gein miraad._ It is wise to recognise when you only have one choice. And you can trust me. Z _u’u ni tahrodiis_. Alduin has proved himself unworthy to rule. I go my own way now. Free me, and I’ll take you to Skuldafn.”

She nodded, and looked up at K’alen, who, having heard the entire conversation, looked sceptical.

“Open the trap,” she called up, her voice loud enough for him to hear.

He hesitated for a second, before nodding once and pulling the chain next to him. The trap unhinged itself off of Odahviing and raised itself to the roof. Odahviing stretched out his neck and wings, which now worked because Dragonrend had worn off while he was trapped.

“ _Faas nu, zini dein ruthi ahst vaal_ ,” he said. He then turned around, which was a hard feat to do since the Great Porch was only slightly wider than he was, and made his way to the end of it, where he could launch himself into the sky, which had darkened dramatically, and take her to Skuldafn.

Elsebet jogged over to him. When she stopped next to him, he swivelled his head towards her. 

“ _Saraan uth_ —I await your command, as promised. Are you ready to see the world as only a dovah can?”

She nodded. “Yes. Take me to Skuldafn.”

“ _Zok brit uth!_ I warn you, once you’ve flown the skies of _Keizaal_ , your envy of the dov will only increase.”

With that, he lowered his neck so she could climb on. She grabbed onto his horn and wedged a hand between his neck scales, and placed a foot on his scales and pushed herself onto the dragon. His neck wasn’t particularly comfortable, but she was willing to do anything to save Skyrim, even if she had to have a scale poking her ass all the way to Skuldafn, however far away it was.

“ _Amativ! Mu bo kotin stinselok._ ”

And with that, he raised his wings, and he shot himself into the air, Elsebet holding onto her horns so she didn’t fall off.


	37. There's Too Many Bloody Draugr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make this chapter as interesting as possible, but there are bits that get boring :/ I hope you enjoy it though!

Riding on the back of Odahviing, Elsebet had never felt so free. The wind, while harsh as it assaulted her face, blew her short hair behind her, and seemed to blow through every part of her. Skyrim moved slowly below them, and she savoured the height, no matter how far away the ground was.

Halfway through the flight, she had let go of Odahviing’s wings and put her arms out to the side, full of total bliss as she closed her eyes, imagining flying herself with nothing holding her up, without the dragon whose neck she was riding. 

Though it took several hours to get to Skuldafn, it went by too fast for Elsebet. As the dragon lowered itself down on a platform away from the two dragons and numerous draugr they had seen on their way over, she had wished it had taken _days_ , not hours. As she slid off Odahviing’s neck, the feeling of ecstasy she had felt was quickly diminishing, so much so that when her feet hit the ground, it was gone.

“This is as far as I can take you,” he rumbled. “ _Krif voth ahkrin_. I will look for your return, or Alduin’s.”

Then he launched himself into the air, circled once, and was gone.

With only the moons for light to guide her, Elsebet didn’t move until her eyes adjusted to the darkness properly. When they did, she saw two draugr patrolling the walkway on the other side of the bridge in front of her. She pulled her bow off her back and knocked an arrow, aiming for the draugr on the left side, waiting for it to stop moving before she fired.   
The draugr fell, alerting the other one of the presence of an enemy. It didn’t get far before an arrow appeared in its chest, and it fell too.

Keeping her footing light, Elsebet made her way over the bridge, where the roar of a dragon filled the air, and soured high into the air above her. She readied Dragonrend as the dragon, _Thurvolnaak_ , lowered himself in the air to hit her with flames.

“ _JOOR ZAH FRUL!_ ”

The Shout wrapped itself around Thurvolnaak, pulling him towards the ground. Elsebet dropped her bow as he landed heavily on the stone, making the ground vibrate, and unsheathed Dragonbane as Thurvolnaak snapped at her. She dodged, slicing the blade over him snout as she moved out of the way.

She let out a war cry—which probably wasn’t the best idea when she wanted to be stealthy—and rounded the dragon’s head, avoiding his snapping maw, and plunged Dragonbane hilt-deep into his neck, severing his jugular.

When she pulled the blade out, slick with Thurvolnaak’s blood, the dragon buckled and fell heavily to the ground, lifeless. She sheathed the sword, ignoring the blood that pooled at the handle, picked up her bow, and continued on, not bothering to wait for the dragon’s soul to enter her. It would follow her.

She knocked an arrow and fired at a draugr on a walkway, piercing it in the neck and making it crumple off the side and fall to the floor. It’s partner knocked an arrow in its own bow and aimed at nothing, trying to distinguish shapes in the darkness. An arrow hit its shoulder, making his grip on the string loosen, which made the arrow fly. She fell to the ground as the arrow flew over her, and she shot another arrow at it, making it join its comrade in the void of death a second time.

The roar of the second dragon was louder than the first, and when it flew over the battlements of the once-great temple it was definitely bigger than the other one, and while Thurvolnaak’s scales were a dull bronze, this one— _Ziivenzaan_ —was white.

As he flew over her, he let out a torrent of ice aimed at her. She rolled out of the way, and the ice shattered on impact with the stone. She rested her bow on the stone next to her and unsheathed Dragonbane for the second time in five minutes, still wet with Thurvolnaak’s blood.

“ _JOOR ZAH FRUL!_ ”

Ziivenzaan fell to the ground heavily, and she ran at him, sword brandished slashing and slicing him as he snapped at her and failed to assault her with his ice. She buried the side of Dragonbane into Ziivenzaan’s snout, making the dragon let out a roar of pain. She pulled the sword out of his snout and grabbed one of his horns, then pulled herself onto the dragon’s head.

She held on as the dragon thrashed, and she buried the sword into his eye. As soon as the blade hit his brain, he stopped moving, and fell limply.

She pulled Dragonbane out of his eye—along with said eye—and, looking at it in disgust, wiped it on a piece of linen she produced from her pack, then threw it on the floor, sheathed Dragonbane, and went over to where she placed her bow and picked it up.

She ascended a set of stairs, an arrow resting on the string of her bow but not pulled back, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice. At the second set of stairs, a draugr was standing at the bottom, but he fell with an arrow in the head. She ascended the stairs, shooting another draugr at the top, and made her way to the massive door that would bring her inside Skuldafn.

She pushed the door shut behind her, and rested on it as she looked around the chamber. It was massive room, with torches and braziers light up the room, a stone statue in the middle of it, an embalming table on one side, and two passages leading further into the temple, one on either side of the statue. With her bow raised, a hand over her shoulder and holding the end of an arrow, she pushed herself off the door and went down the left one.

She crouched down as a draugr shuffled up a set of stairs. It looked like the two passages were connected, as there was a hallway that led to the right with an embalming table on it. In the other passage, a draugr walked down the stairs, and there was one standing in front of the table. They hadn’t seen her yet, but they would if she stayed there.

She knocked an arrow and aimed it at the draugr in front of the table, then let go of the string. It struck true, hitting it between the shoulder blades, and he fell like a log, alerting the draugr that was now descending the staircase in front of her. She shot him in the neck, and she knocked an arrow as the third one shambled towards the two bodies of its comrades. That one was down with two arrows in the stomach.

She ascended the staircase, shooting the draugr standing in front of a pillar. When she entered the chamber, though, the two sarcophagi in the room, one on either side, opened, the lids falling to the ground as they stepped out, but they were quickly dead as Elsebet shot at them.

She pulled her bow over her shoulder and studied the three pillars in front of her, just like the ones she and Risorallen had found in Bleak Falls Barrow. She pushed the thought of her dead best friend out of her mind; she’d grieve him once this is all done.

Looking up, she searched the chamber to see what the combination was. She found two carvings above two portcullises, both at the top of the set of stairs. The one on the left was a snake, with the one on the right depicting a hawk. She realised that those were the combinations to open that specific gate, she just needed to find the other two.

She found them facing the two pillars on the ends, and she turned the so the right one was a snake, pointed at the wall, and the left one was a whale. She turned the one in the middle so it showed a hawk, then pulled the lever in front of it.

The portcullis on the right opened up, and she ascended the stairs to go through it. 

Only to find that it was caved in.

Swearing lightly, she took the gold and gems from a burial urn that was accessible from the rubble then turned on her heel and descended the steps. She turned the pillar in the middle to show a snake then pulled the lever again. This time the portcullis on the left opened up, and it wasn’t caved in like the right one.

She went down the short corridor and turned, then ascended a set of stairs. She found herself in a small room, up on a walkway with wooden steps leading down into an alcove full of sarcophagi. A draugr was standing in front of a table near the sarcophagi, his back turned to her. She pulled her bow off her shoulder and knocked an arrow, aiming at the draugr. She let the arrow fly, and it hit it square in the back.

She took a few steps down the wooden staircase when three sarcophagi opened up, one in the alcove and two up near her, one on either side. She quickly shot the one at the bottom, the arrow hitting it in the shoulder. It grunted before falling to its knees.

She turned around and aimed an arrow at the draugr that was quickly descending the stairs to her, but didn’t get far before it fell to the ground, an arrow in the neck. The last draugr pulled back on its bow and aimed at her. He let the arrow fly, towards Elsebet.

She managed to dodge it, but not fully. The edge of the arrow grazed the side of her neck, then thudded against the stone wall behind her and broke in half. She shot an arrow into its chest, another one in the stomach, before she put a hand on the small wound.

She pulled it away and saw blood.

She swore and opened up her pack, digging for a health potion. She found one and uncorked it, then swallowed half the contents. She gagged, but she could feel the skin on her neck slowly knitting itself together, so she corked the potion again and put it back in her pack.

When she put her hand on her neck again, the wound was closed, but she could feel a slightly sunken line. She sighed. She didn’t want—or need—a new scar.

She wiped her bloodied hand on some of her spare linen and threw it on the ground. She made her way to the bottom of the staircase and looked around for a way forward, only to find it was through the sarcophagus one of the draugr came out of.

She stepped through it and into a hallway full of spiderwebs. She shuddered. She hated spiders.

She put her bow on her back and unsheathed her elven dagger.

She had just started cutting her way through the spiderwebs when a small frostbite spider jumped out of nowhere at her. She let out a scream and stabbed it in its head, it’s juices coming out of the hole like a geyser and spilling all over her hand.

She dropped to her knees and threw up.

Shuddering, she pulled some more linen out of her pack, noting that her supply was running out, and wiped her hand on it. 

She was happy to leave that piece on the ground next to the dead spider.

She pushed herself to her feet and continued on, cutting away at the spiderwebs whenever they got too close.

By the time she got to a set of wooden double doors at the end of a winding hallway that also for some reason had stairs, she had killed five more spiders, all of different spiders. But there was one thing for certain—the first one she killed was definitely the smallest.

She pushed the door open, her elven dagger clenched tightly in hand, to find herself in a small chamber. There was a wooden platform in the middle of the room, a turn pillar facing her, with a wooden ramp leading up to a walkway that had a bridge leading onto the platform on that side and off the other side. A draugr stood on each bridge, guarding the chamber.

Unfortunately for Elsebet, the draugr closest to her saw her, and she didn’t have enough time to pull her bow off her back and shoot it before it got to the bottom of the wooden ramp, axe raised above its head.

She rolled out of the way as it swung the axe at her. She rolled onto her knees and stabbed it behind its knee. It buckled and fell to the ground, alerting the other draugr as it let out an ungodly noise, and she pulled the knife out of the rotting flesh. She pushed herself up to her feet and buried the blade hilt-deep into the back of its neck, severing the jugular. She pulled the dagger out of its neck and spun around.

She met the second draugr at the base of the ramp. The draugr swung its sword at her head, and she lifted her dagger and met the blade, a loud _clang_ filling the small chamber. She pulled the dagger down and ducked another swung, then stabbed it in the arm it used to hold the sword.

It let out a shrill scream as she twisted the knife deeper into its wrist, and lashed out with its left hand. It struck the right side of her face, leaving four long scratches down the side of her face.

She cried out in pain and wretched the knife out of its wrist. Letting out a war cry, she raised the dagger high above her neck and stuck the blade in the space between its neck and shoulder. She pulled it out and stabbed it again, and again, again, until it was a pile at her feet.

Her face stung, and she sheathed the dagger before digging through her pack for the half-drunk potion. She pulled it out and uncorked it as she felt the blood run down the side of her chin and onto her neck. She tipped her head back and swallowed the potion quickly. She shuddered as the wounds stitched themselves closed, dropping the bottle onto the ground.

She turned her attention away from her healing wounds to the turn pillar at the base of the platform. She looked around at the roof, only to find two carvings near the roof, one above each bridge. If she stood on her toes, she could see the turn pillars connected to them, so they were no use to her right then.

She walked around the raised platform and found a carving of a snake on the wall. With a triumphant smirk, she turned around to find a chest pushed against the raised platform. She quickly searched through it, pocketing the gold, soul gem, and garnet that was inside, and made her way back to the turn pillar on the other side of the stone platform.

She turned it so it showed the snake, then went up the wooden ramp and turned the others to show a whale on the left and a hawk on the right, then went to the platform and pulled on the lever in the middle of it.

The wooden drawbridge on the other side of the gap, above where the snake carving and chest were, lowered, and Elsebet made her way over it. She pushed open the door and pulled her bow off her back and made her way forward, turning at the corner and ducking down as she saw the draugr in a second chamber.

It stood behind an embalming table, facing her, in front of a set of stone stairs. Elsebet knocked an arrow and shot the draugr, piercing its neck. It fell to the floor, heavily, dead.

She decided then that she definitely preferred stealth to straight-up attacking the enemy. Got less bruises and cuts, anyway.

With that in mind, she touched her cheek, where the draugr had clawed her. Since it wasn’t a full bottle of potion, it didn’t heal fully, leaving four long scabs that went from under her eye to the bottom of her jaw. She grimaced. Those would leave scars.

Her stomach grumbled, and she pulled the timepiece Kyrun had given her out from under her armour. She looked at the time: _1:13_. No doubt in the morning; she hadn’t been there that long. Just over two hours, if her math was correct. It was just before eleven when she’d checked it last, just before Odahviing had set her down at the entrance to Skuldafn. So it had been over twelve hours since she had last eaten, and she was hungry.

She set down at the entrance to the chamber and opened her pack to get out food. She pulled out a loaf of bread and an apple dumpling, both of them carefully wrapped in fresh linen so they wouldn’t get stale. She also pulled her water skin and took a couple swigs of that; she hadn’t realised how dehydrated she was before the sweet-tasting water touched her touch, since she’d placed a lemon in it for some taste.

She ate for the next ten minutes before she packed up the water skin and wrapped half of the bread she didn’t eat with the linen it had been wrapped in before, then put that back in her pack. 

While she had been sitting, she had just realised how tired she had been; she’d last slept while heading to High Hrothgar with Jarl Ulfric and his housecarl, Galmar, and that had been almost twenty-four hours earlier. So, leaning against the wall with her cloak over her for warmth, she fell asleep.

She almost wished she hadn’t.


	38. This is the Second Time It's Happened to Me

When Elsebet opened her eyes she wasn’t in Skuldafn. She panicked, thinking that a draugr had killed her in her sleep, and she dead in Sovngarde—which would’ve shortened her journey, let’s be honest—until she realised where she was.

She was in the Temple of Kynareth in Whiterun, though how she was there was beyond her. She was alone, from what she saw, and she realised this was a dream. She was still in Skuldafn, but she was dreaming about being in Whiterun, for some odd reason.

She turned around, and she realised that she wasn’t wearing her Blades armour. She looked down and saw she was wearing the weirdest thing she had ever seen—a white shirt that went just under her breasts, with weird-looking shorts that went above her belly-button with the legs cutting off a quarter of the way down her thigh, so it felt like her ass was hanging out. There was a flower embroidered onto each leg, and it was buttoned up to fit her form nicely. Her socks were white, and went up to just under her knees, and her shoes were like what Akatosh was wearing—the exact same, actually, with the stars on the side and all colours of the rainbow. Her hair was longer, too, and went to the small of her back in red waves, and something dug into her back. When she put her hand on it, she traced it to her chest and realised it was like her breast band, but was tighter and felt weird.

“Do not be startled by your appearance.”

Elsebet flung her head up, eyes wide as her hand went to Dragonbane, before she realised she didn’t have it on her. In front of her was the most beautiful woman she had even seen, and she had to stop herself from drooling at her beauty.

The woman was tall, as tall as Elsebet, but taller because of the shoes she was wearing—black, with the heels sending her foot up in what looked like an uncomfortable angle. Her skin was flawless, the colour of cream, and her raven hair was styled over her shoulder, falling to just under her breasts, her eyes so bright a green that emeralds looked dull compared to them. Her lips were plump and coloured red with makeup. Her eyelashes were darkened with makeup, making her eyes pop, and a light blush brushed her cheeks. The dress she wore was a style she hadn’t seen before; sleeveless, held up by the way it clung to her body and her breasts, a deep red colour that matched her lipstick. The top clung to her body, while the skirt became loose and fell to the floor gracefully, with a slit up the side to reveal her bare leg.

“Who are you?” Elsebet asked.

She smiled. “I am Kynareth.”

Her eyes widened, though she didn’t know if they could, with how wide they were. But they did. “Why am I here? What am I wearing?”

Kynareth laughed, high and melodic. “Akatosh told you you weren’t always going to be Dragonborn. It’s something from your next life, as is this dress,” she said. “Now, as to why you’re here, you need my blessing if you’re going to enter my realm.”

Right. Elsebet didn’t think of that.

“I accept all those that belong in my realm after their deaths. Unfortunately for you, you’re not dead.”

“What about Alduin?” Elsebet asked. “He flies in and out whenever he pleases.”

Kynareth blinked her long lashes. “No matter what he has done, Alduin is a god. A very powerful god. He forces himself into my realm without my permission and eats the souls of my dead for power. It is for that reason that I am letting you into Sovngarde without dying,” she said. “But, this will be the only time you enter my realm.”

“What?” The Dragonborn asked. “Why?”

“People who enter don’t generally leave, so there’s no reason for them to enter twice,” Kynareth said, her bright eyes on Elsebet’s mismatched ones. “And for that, a barrier has appeared around Sovngarde, one that only gods can pass through more than once. By entering Sovngarde alive to defeat Alduin, you have doomed your afterlife. I do not know where you’ll be going once you die, but you will not be going to my realm.”

Elsebet narrowed her eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”

The side of the goddess’s lip curled up in a smile. “You have always been smart. I’m telling you because I’m giving you a choice, and it is entirely up to you to choose.” She put one hand up and to the side. “You can go to Sovngarde now, defeat Alduin, and come back to Mundus, but not have the afterlife of your parents or siblings. Or,” she put the other hand up, “I can take you to Whiterun now, leave Alduin to someone else, and secure your afterlife. But there is no certainty that Alduin will be defeated if you take this option.”

“Why are you asking me to choose?”

“Contrary to what you think, Dragonborn, you are not the first mortal to enter Sovngarde alive,” she said, dropping her hands to her sides. “I give these options to all those that seek to enter my realm, but with their current predicament.” She held her hand out to Elsebet. “Choose, Dragonborn. Hold my hand, and I’ll take you back to my temple in Whiterun. Or,” she motioned her other hand to the door on the other side of the building, “you can leave, and you’ll wake up seven hours after you fell asleep feeling refreshed, and you’ll continue through Skuldafn to get to the portal to my realm. Your choice.”

There was no choice, really. She needed to defeat Alduin. It was her destiny.

But when did she start believing in destiny?

She shook her head. Destiny or not, it was her duty to defeat the World-Eater. She’d gone this far, she wasn’t about to give up.

So, with one last look at Kynareth, she left the temple.

Elsebet blinked her eyes open, back in the depths of Skuldafn. While she had been sleeping, her cloak had fallen off the top half of her body, leaving it in a pile on her lap. She quickly folded it up and put it in her pack. She pulled the timepiece off her chest and read the time: 

_8:27_. 

Seven hours after she fell asleep.

She ate the rest of the loaf of bread she’d left the night before. She needed food and drink if she was going to continue through the ruin after a restful night. So, after taking a swig of water from her water skin, she stood up and continued through the ruin.

There was a chest on the table the draugr had been behind. Emptying the contents—a handful of gold, a couple gems and an enchanted dwarven dagger—into her pack, she ascended the stairs at the back of the chamber. She turned into a hallway, her bow secure in her hand, that turned twice before she found herself in an antechamber.

A draugr was standing in the middle of the room, oblivious to the death it was about to receive. Elsebet knocked an arrow and aimed at the draugr. She let the arrow fly, and it sailed through the air and through its shoulder. It turned, and another arrow hit its neck. It collapsed, and she made her way into the antechamber.

Only for it to turn out not being an antechamber and actually the top half of the chamber she had just exited, with a bridge leading over the chamber.

Elsebet shivered as she realised that that _thing_ had been close to her while she slept.

She made her way over the bridge and down a hallway. She turned a corner and found herself in an actual antechamber—the bottom half of one, anyway. There was an iron bookcase on the other side of the circular chamber, with a wooden spiral staircase leading up into the top half of the antechamber. There was oil on the floor, as well as a pressure plate in front of her, and no doubt a fire urn at the top, ready to be activated.

_Not today_ , she thought.

She stepped over the round pressure plate and into the oil. After looting the bookcase of the only book not ruined or burned and a stamina potion, she made her way up the spiral staircase, bow ready in case there was an ambush of sorts.

She could see the heads of draugr in two holes in the wall, ready to attack when necessary, with an iron door between them. She shot one of the draugr, alerting the other draugr and one she couldn’t see, and the door flew open to reveal a draugr, greatsword ready to swing.

It swung at her, and she slid under the sword, stopped on her knees, turned, and shot an arrow between its shoulder blades. The last draugr came through the door, and Elsebet unsheathed her elven dagger and plunged it into its chest. She pulled it out, pushed herself to her feet, turned in a circle, and slashed its throat. Mottled black blood spilled out of the cut as it fell to the floor, choking in its own blood.

She sheathed her blade and turned on her heel, looking for a way forward. She found it behind a portcullis, and she searched the room for a lever or pull chain to open it, only to find it in the small room the draugr had been.

She pulled on the lever, and the sound of the portcullis opening filled the small antechamber. She made her way through it the open entrance. The hallway was long with several turns, and she found herself in a Hall of Stories. A draugr stood next to the puzzle door, back towards her with something clasp in its hand. She shot it in the back, making it slump against the puzzle door and drop whatever was in its hand.

She made her way over to it and and picked up the thing. It was a dragon claw, like the golden one she’d found for Lucan Valerius in Bleak Falls Barrow, except this one was made of solid diamond. She turned it around to see the combination: fox, moth, dragon. She went over to the door, kicking the draugr off of it, and turned the discs to show the same combination. She put the claw into the key hole, then pressed and twisted it.

She pulled it back and winced as the sound of stone grinding on stone filled the air, and soon the puzzle door was sunken into the ground. She ascended the staircase that was behind it and turned into a tall but skinny chamber, with four throne-like chains lining the sides, skeletons sitting on them haphazardly, obviously not alive and going to stand up once she passes them.

She took a step into the chamber, and a low chanting sounded. Inside her, the dragon souls riled, especially Sahloknir, who’d been there the longest. At the other side of the chamber was a Word Wall, the Word glowing slightly.

The chanting grew as she neared the wall, until it was so deafening she had to clamp her hands over her ears to block out the noise, but it persisted, and her ears hurt by the time she stopped in front of the glowing Word. It reached out to her, enveloping her in a soft light as she reached for the Wall.

She placed her hand on the Wall, and she gasped as a feeling she had never felt filled her veins, took over her entire being, lightning arcing through her blood and bones and muscles, but not hurting her. Her ears started pounding, and the hairs on her arms and neck, though covered by her armour mostly, were standing on their ends. It was like…

It was like being caught in the middle of a storm.

The soul of Sahloknir raced towards the Word, beating the four other souls to it. The two connected, and then the soul disappeared, charging the Storm within her.

_Strun_ , Storm, Storm Call.

She staggered away from the wall, catching her breath.

“That was intense,” she muttered, staring at the Wall, freshly void of its Word.

She needed to continue on. With her experience of Word Walls, they were always near the end of the ruin. She was near the end, she knew it.

She looked around the room, looking for a way forward. She found the path next to the Word Wall, so she went down that, her bow tight in her hand as she prepared to fight anything that came her way.

She turned into a hallway to see a wooden door at the end of it, a breeze flowing down the hall and cooling her down. She also saw a side chamber, and quickly looted that of all its gold and gems—of which there were many, hidden under a piece of linen in a metal bowl—and went to the wooden door. She pushed it open with her shoulder, and ducked an arrow that flew over her head and _thudded_ into the door above her.

She glanced up at the arrow, then over at the draugr at the end of the ledge. She quickly shot it with an arrow, the arrow _thunk_ ing into the draugr’s chest. The momentum caused the draugr to fall over the edge of the ledge, plunging to its death due to the sheer drop it was off the side of it.

She heard the growl of another draugr, and she turned just in time to dodge an axe aimed at her head. She dropped the bow and unsheathed Dragonbane as the draugr swung again, and the blade caught between the blade and the handle of the axe.

She lifted her foot at kicked at its ribs, only for her foot to sink into the rotting flesh of the draugr’s chest. Resisted the urge to puke, she unsheathed her elven dagger with her free hand and in one quick swoop cut the draugr’s hand off, the hand and the axe falling to the ground and freeing Dragonbane.

With a war cry, she wretched her foot out of its chest and pulled the blade over its neck, ripping through its flesh, jugular, and spinal cord, and its head fell to the floor shortly before its body followed.

She sheathed her two blades, mentally making a reminder to name her dagger, and picked up her bow, then knocked an arrow but kept the string slack. 

The sun had risen while she had been in the ruin, and the early morning Frost Fall sun beat down on Elsebet’s neck as she rounded the corner and, spotting a draugr pacing on the other side of the massive stone platform, pulled back on the string of her bow, tilted the bow up, and fired.

It pierced straight through the draugr’’s chest, sending it over the side.

With a grin on her face, she looked up. A pillar of light and air was pointed to the sky, originating from the platform above her. She made her way to the staircase halfway down the platform and ascended them, stopping halfway up in fear as she saw what was on the platform in front of her.

A Dragon Priest floated up a set of stairs in the middle of the platform, towards where the portal to Sovngarde was. It grabbed the staff in front of it and pulled it out of the ground, and the portal closed, the wind dying down as the Dragon Priest floated down the stairs and towards Elsebet.

It hadn’t seen her yet, though.

She dropped to the ground, pushing herself down a couple steps as she tried to stop the tries that threatened to spill. She put a fist in her mouth and screwed her eyes shut, trying to calm herself down.

She was going to _die_ if she battled the Dragon Priest, but she had to fight it to get the staff to open the portal so she could get to Sovngarde. 

She pulled her fist out of her mouth and opened her eyes. Her grip tightened on her bow, and she pulled an arrow out of her quiver. She pushed herself onto her knees and climbed up the stairs on all fours, like she did when she was a child.

She was still a child, though, wasn’t she? She was only nineteen.

Her head poked over the top of the stairs, and she could see the Dragon Priest floating around, guarding the portal and the staff it held tightly in its hand. 

She placed the arrow on the string, being as quiet as she possibly could. She didn’t need the Dragon Priest to detect her before she was ready and attack her before she could attack it. She pulled back on the string, brought it up to her eye, aimed at the Dragon Priest and, her heart beating erratically in her chest, let it fly.

It sailed through the air and time seemed to slow down as it hit its mark, piercing the Dragon Priest’s back through the cape that it still wore, no matter how battered or broken it was. It writhed for a second, before it whipped around, lightning held in its hand as it searched for the assailant. The emotionless mask it wore turned as it searched, and her breath came out ragged as she knocked another arrow and let it fly.

It hit the Dragon Priest in the shoulder, and it staggered backwards before righting itself, floating higher into the air as the lightning in its hand grew.

Elsebet’s eyes widened, and threw herself to the side, just missing the ball of lightning the Dragon Priest sent her way.

It had seen her.

She scrambled up the staircase and shot another arrow at it, but in her haste she hated aimed and it sailed passed the Dragon Priest’s head. It shot another ball of lightning at her, and she dove out of the way, landing in a roll and rolling onto her knees.

Her Thu’um rose in her throat, and a feeling similar to what she had felt in Skuldafn filled her. Lightning arced through her; not hurting her, but giving her an energy she hadn’t felt before. The Word forced itself up her throat as the lightning in the Dragon Priest’s hand changed to a deep purple vortex, and she Shouted the Word at the top of her lungs, disorienting both her and the Dragon Priest.

“ _STRUN!_ ”  


The lightning and energy left her body, and the morning sky darkened considerably, her Voice having called a Storm to help defeat her enemies. Rain poured out of the sky, and thunder cracked directly above them as Elsebet dropped her bow and unsheathed Dragonbane. The Dragon Priest tilted its ebony mask to the sky, and a bolt of lightning arced out of the sky and hit it, a sonic boom filling the air as the Dragon Priest fell to the ground—not dead, but injured.

Elsebet’s hair was plastered to her face as she let out a war cry, brandishing Dragonbane and running to the Dragon Priest as it floated back to its feet. She swung the sword at its head, but it moved the staff in the way and the two connected, the loud _clang_ drowned out by the roar of thunder that accompanied another lightning bolt, this one connecting with the ground behind her.

She pulled her blade away and aimed her next swing at the Dragon Priest’s body. The tip grazed its chest, and in retaliation it brought the staff into her side, pushing her to the side. She fell to the ground, and fear filled her again as a sudden realisation hit her: she’d only had two days of official training with her sword. All the fighting she’d done in the last month and a half had been mostly with her bow. Everything with her sword was dumb luck.

And she was running out of luck.

She scrambled to her feet, her sword still clutched in hand, and took a few steps backwards. The Dragon Priest had switched back to lightning magic, and it sent a ball of it at her, too close for her to move out of the way.

But she could do something.

“ _FEIM!_ ”

The Shout enveloped her, making her ethereal, unable to harm or be harmed. The ball of lightning sailed harmlessly through her, and she tried to catch her breath as she waited for the Shout to wear off in a couple seconds. 

Another bolt of lightning shot down from the sky as the rain stopped pouring and the clouds started disappearing. It hit the Dragon Priest’s mask, sending electricity to run through its body and fry it from the inside out.

While distracted with getting fried, Elsebet swung Dragonbane at the Dragon Priest’s neck, cutting straight through the flesh and getting lodged halfway through as it connected with bone.

And around the blade, the Dragon Priest started disintegrating. It started at its neck, freeing her sword, and climbed up the face and down the body, and soon, it was just a pile of ash.

Sitting on top of that pile of ash was its shoulder armour, cape, two arrows, and the ebony mask it wore to cover its face. Next to it was the staff she needed to open the portal to Sovngarde.

She bent down and picked up the mask, dusting the ash off it and studied it. She’d read somewhere that Dragon Priests always had a name, though no one knew if the mask was named after the Dragon Priest or if the Dragon Priest was named after the mask. She pulled the cowl part of it over the ebony part and she saw the name, engraved at the top in the language of the dragons:

_Nahkriin_.

Vengeance.

She put the cowl back to its proper position and placed it in her pack, then picked up the two arrows and put them in her quiver and picked up the staff.

She looked over at the closed portal, quite a fair bit away, and walked over to it. She ascended the stairs to the pedestal in the middle of the platform. She stood in front of the seal that was in front of the portal, then glanced at the staff in her hand before raising it above her head and slamming it into the hole in the middle of the seal, then turned it to keep it in place.

In front of her, the portal opened, the pillar light spewing into the sky as an invisible wind blew around the few hairs that managed to not get matted down in the downpour of rain she had summoned. The floor in front of her gave way, dropping into the portal that was a mixof pink, purple, and blue.

She raised her foot, and stepped into the portal.


	39. Land of the Dead, You're Making Me Cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second last chapter! I am so excited for this to end, and for you to meet Elsebet's next adventure!

Elsebet didn’t know how long she was in the portal for. All she knew was that she was falling, and that her hair and armour were rapidly drying somehow. Then the night sky appeared above her, and she was standing on the top of a hill, cliffs surrounding every direction except forward, with steps leading her down the hill and onto the path she needed to take.

She turned in a circle slowly, still not quite processing that she was in _Sovngarde_ , the land of the Nordic dead, the realm of Kynareth. She only thought she’d come here when she died, not when she was nineteen on a quest to defeat the World-Eater.

She stopped turning and stared at the sky. The was a white vortex in the centre, turning slowly, letting out purple, pink, and blue clouds that circled it, and she realised that what she was seeing through the portal was the sky of Sovngarde. And, if she looked closely, she swore she could see the sky split into three sections, one blue, one green, one red, with the figures of a mage, a thief, and a warrior made out of clouds in those sections respectively.

“Holy shit,” she breathed.

She started on her way down the path, which twisted and turned slightly down the hill in a relatively straight line. Mountain flowers lined the edges of the path in clumps, and a heavy mist was settled over everything, so much so that she couldn’t see that far in front of her. She had a solution, though.

“ _LOK VAH KOOR!_ ”

Her Shout pushed forward, and it cleared the mist in front of her, allowing her to see more than a foot in front of her. She pushed on as the mountains around her opened into a wide valley, several stone statues of old men in cloaks dotting the landscape.

She could hear the roar of Alduin, and the screams of a soul as they were devoured by the World-Eater. She felt sorry for them, living in fear despite the fact that they weren’t actually living, they were dead.

She kept moving forward, until the mist started coming in again and a Stormcloak soldier approached her, an orange glow surrounding him.

“Turn back, traveller!” He cried, distraught on his face. “Terror awaits within this mist. Many have braved the shadowed vale but vain is all courage against the peril that guards the way.”

She blinked at him. She didn’t realise the dead were so poetic. “Who are you?” She asked.

“Near Giant’s Gap, in the gloom before dawn, we marched, unsuspecting of the Imperial’s trap. Then we stood and fought, our shield-wall defending until by dawn’s light the Legion’s ranks wavered.” He looked down, sadness overcoming his entire being. “But I never knew if nights-end brought victory—a swift-flying arrow to Sovngarde carried me.”

“What’s this mist?”

He shook his head, looking up at her. “I do not know—but none have passed through. Alduin, his hunger insatiable, hunts the lost souls snared within this shadowed valley. Can you lead the way to where Shor’s hall waits, beckoning us to welcome long sought?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Shor’s Hall? What’s that?”

He looked at her, confused. “Don’t you know? What drew you here? Surely your dreams showed you the way?” She shook her head, and he sighed. “The Hall of Valour, where heroes wait to follow Shor to the final battle.” A dreamy look appeared on his face. “I saw it fair when first I trod this long-sought path. The pain and fear vanished, dreamlike, and a vision beckoned—Shor’s Hall, shimmering across the clouded vale. But quenched was hope by the shrouded mist—my mind is darkened. I’ve lost the way and wander blindly.”

A roar split the air, and worry appeared on the soldier’s face. “Hurry! Before Alduin your life devours. Bring word to Shor’s Hall of our hard fate!”

“Follow me,” Elsebet said. “I’ll lead you through this mist.”

A small smile appeared on his face. “I’ll try to hold this hopeful purpose. Quickly, before this encompassing fog once more snares me in the World-Eater’s net.”

She nodded, and she walked passed the soldier before letting out her Clear Skies Shout again, clearing the mist again, and continued down the winding path.

They turned a corner, and Shor’s Hall appeared out of the gloom, tall and grand and wooden, easily four times the size of Dragonsreach. They continued down the path, until they got to a staircase that led to a bridge made out of whale bones, stuck haphazardly between the never-ending chasm between the Hall of Valour and where they stood.

A man, built like a bear, wearing only a fur loincloth, boots, and a belt that covered his entire stomach, with a battleaxe strapped to his back, stood before the Whalebone Bridge. There was a slightly orange glow surrounding him, much like there was the soldier. This was Tsun of legend, the guardian of Shor’s Hall.

“What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here, in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor’s gift to honoured dead?”

Tsun’s voice was soft but firm, and slightly melodic and poetic, which surprised Elsebet greatly. She expected him to have a deep, gruff voice, much like she did Akatosh, but it wasn’t. She guessed that’s what made the god more human, though human he wasn’t. He has never been, and will never be, human like Elsebet was—like the Stormcloak soldier that had accompanied her, but had now disappeared, ensnared by the mist once more.

She stood up straight and tried to make her voice more formal. “I pursue Alduin, the World-Eater.”

Tsun nodded. “A fateful errand. No few have chafed to face the Worm since first he set his soul-snare here at Sovngarde’s threshold. But Shor restrained our wrathful onslaught—perhaps, deep-counselled, your doom he foresaw.”

“I seek entrance to the Hall of Valour.”

“No shade are you, as usually here passes,” he said, shaking his head, “but living, you dare the land of the dead. By what right do you request entry?”

“By right of birth,” she said. “I am Dragonborn.”

A smile lit up Tsun’s already-glowing face. “Ah! It’s been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood. But, living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge ’til I judge them worthy by the warrior’s test.”

_Yeah, no_ , Elsebet thought. She wasn’t a warrior, no matter what the past month and a half showed. That was luck and her hiding until she shot an enemy to death. What type of warrior was that?

Tsun moved his hand over his shoulder and grasped the handle of his battleaxe, then pulled it over his shoulder and charged at her. She ducked out of the way of the first swing and drew Dragonbane, slashing and his arm as he regained his footing. She side-stepped to her right, then stabbed at his side.

With surprising speed, Tsun used his battleaxe to hit the sword away before it could hit him. He turned to face her and put his foot behind him.

Elsebet’s eyes widened. She didn’t know Tsun could Shout.

“ _FEIM!_ ”

“ _FUS RO DAH!_ ”

Tsun’s Shout passed harmlessly through her, and she thrust her sword forward as she felt the Shout wear off. She became solid again, and the tip of Dragonbane was thrust into his stomach, and she pushed it until the touch touched skin before she pulled the blade out.

His wounds healed, and he secured the battleaxe back on his back. Elsebet sheathed Dragonbane and stood before him.

“You fought well,” he said. “I deem you worthy.”

He stepped out of the way, and Elsebet made her way to the Whalebone Bridge. She had heard tales of the dead that had been deemed worthy by Tsun and then plunged to their second death from a wrong footing on the Bridge.

So, carefully, she made her way over the bridge, holding onto the spine ridges until the got too short, and when they did she sat down on the flat spine and pulled herself over to the end. When she got on solid ground, she stood back up and made her way to one of the doors to Shor’s Hall.

The door wasn’t unlike those found in Skyrim; impossibly tall and required several people to open it. The two differences were that it was the width of a regular door, and weighed just as much, which was probably done with magic. There were also several of them, ranging from different heights, but still incredibly tall.

She stepped inside the Hall of Valour.

The inside was just as big as the outside, possibly more so if there was magic involved. The ceiling towered impossibly high above her and the other residents of Shor’s Hall, and chandeliers hung off of them, somehow lighting up the massive space to make it look like there was daylight inside.

As she marvelled at how big the place was, a man had walked up to her. He was tall, with blonde hair that went to his shoulders, a shaggy beard, and wore ancient Nordic armour, like the many draugr she had fought did.  
  
He grinned at her. “Welcome, Dragonborn! Our door has stood empty since Alduin first set his soul-snare here. By Shor’s command we sheathed our blades and ventured not into the vale’s dark mist. But three await your word to loose their fury upon the perilous foe. Gormlaith the fearless, glad-hearted in battle; Hakon the valiant, heavy-handed warrior; Felldir the Old, far-seeing and grim.”

He then walked away, and she saw the battleaxe that was over his shoulder properly. Two screaming elves, one for each blade, carved into the dark grey metal.

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

That was Wuuthrad.

He was Ysgramor.

She continued to stare after him as he walked away and talked with another hero of Sovngarde. She shook her head and made her way to the other side of the dinner table that sat in the middle of the middle section of the Hall. She found them standing together, in the same armour they wore in her vision to get Dragonrend. 

As she approached, Gormlaith Golden-Hilt unsheathed her sword. “At long last! Alduin’s doom is now ours to seal—just speak the word and with high hearts we’ll hasten forth to smite the worm wherever he lurks!”

Felldir the Old put a hand on Gormlaith’s sword arm, lowering it as the Nord woman looked at him like he’d just cursed her mother. “Hold, comrades—let us counsel before battle is blindly joined.” He looked at Elsebet. “Alduin’s mist is more than a snare—its shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak. But with four voices joined, our valour combined, we can blast the mist and bring him to battle.”

Elsebet decided then that _everyone_ in Sovngarde had miraculously became a poet once they died, because how else could everyone sound poetic and have poetry coming out of their asses every time they opened their mouths? Seriously, it was unfair to the poets and bards that were still alive.

Hakon One-Eye nodded. “Felldir speaks wisdom—the World-Eater, coward, fears you, Dragonborn.”

Pride swelled in her chest. If Alduin was afraid of her, that meant she had power over him. Which was good for her, especially in that situation.

“We must drive away his mists, Shouting together, and then unsheathe our blades in desperate battle with our black-winged foe,” Hakon continued. “Alduin escaped us long ago. Today we take our well-tempered revenge.”

Hakon and Felldir unsheathed their weapons, and the Ancient Tongues led the way out of Shor’s Hall, over the Whalebone Bridge, and to where she had fought Tsun. The god was still there, arms crossed over his chest as he stood guard.

“The eyes of Shor are upon you this day,” he said. “Defeat Alduin, and destroy his soul-snare.”

The four of them went down their stairs and into the valley proper.

Gormlaith turned to her companions. “Clear Skies—combine our Shouts!”

And together, they Shouted—four Voices, all powerful in their own ways, pushing away at the unnatural mist that shrouded Sovngarde like a wet blanket.

“ _LOK VAH KOOR!_ ”

It was deafening—way more deafening than Word Walls and the roars of dragons that were standing right in front of you. It hurt her eardrums, and it felt like they were going to bleed.

“ _VEN MUL RIIK!_ ” Alduin Shouted, and the mist returned.

“Again!” Gormlaith yelled.

“ _LOK VAH KOOR!_ ”

Again, the mist was pushed back, out of valley. Elsebet could feel it try and claw its way back over the valley, but the combined power of four Shouts kept it back.

“ _VEN MUL RIIK!_ ”

Their Shouts failed, and the mist reconquered the valley they were fighting over. Frustration filled Elsebet; when would Alduin come and face them? Or was he that much of a coward?

Hakon growled. “Does his strength have no end? Is out struggle in vain?”

“Stand fast!” Gormlaith yelled at them. “His strength is failing! Once more, and his might will be broken!”

Elsebet certainly hoped so.

“ _LOK VAH KOOR!_ ”

The mist receded, and this time it didn’t fight back. A grin appeared on Elsebet’s face, but it slid off when an ear-piercing roar filled the air, and Alduin appeared from behind the mountains.

When Gormlaith spoke, she could hear the grin in her voice. “The endless wait gives way to battle! Alduin’s doom, his death or ours!”

Fireballs started to rain down from the sky, and Elsebet was suddenly thrown back to Helgen. She had been so innocent, so naive as to what ‘adventurer’ meant that she was not prepared for what happened all those weeks ago.

It was much like Helgen, except Elsebet wasn’t useless this time, and she knew what was going to happen.

Funny, how it all started with Elsebet running from Alduin, and now, Alduin had run from Elsebet, and had been so cowardly that they had to lure him out for a fight. She doubted he wanted to, because it meant his death.

Alduin soared above them, letting out another roar, and the grin returned to her face as she pulled Dragonbane out of its sheath while Gormlaith and Hakon nailed him with arrows. She couldn’t do that, since she knew Alduin couldn’t be harmed unless he was being subjected to the Dragonrend Shout, and her arrows weren’t unlimited, unlike the Ancient Tongues’ were.

“ _JOOR ZAH FRUL!_ ”

The Shout ripped itself out of her throat, the blue energy flying towards Alduin. It enveloped the black dragon, and he was forced to the ground. Elsebet and the three Ancient Tongues charged at him, slashing and stabbing him where they could, staying out of the way of his mouth. 

Dragonrend wore off, and, before Elsebet could Shout again, Alduin flew into the sky, circling the four Nords and roaring into the sky.

Gormlaith and Hakon went back to nailing Alduin with arrows as he flew around, and Elsebet waited for the right time to Shout again. She watched the dragon like a hawk, but she didn’t expect him to swoop down, grab Elsebet around the middle in one of his clawed feet, and lift her into the air.

A scream ripped out of her throat as Alduin flew her higher and higher, and Hakon and Gormlaith stopped their assault of arrows just in case they hit her. Pain filled her back, as Alduin’s claws had pierced through her armour and dug into her skin, digging into the flesh of her back as he carried her up and up, facing the ground so she could see how high he was taking her.

“ _Paaz pruzah, Dovahkiin_ ,” Alduin grumbled in his deep voice. “Enjoy the fall.”

And then he let go.

Time seemed to slow down as she fell, her mouth open wide in a scream as she plummeted to her death. Her arms and legs flailed, and she heard the deep laugh of Alduin as he watched her fall, heard the cries of the Ancient Tongues, heard the wind rushing passed her ears. 

She turned around mid-air, and she could see Alduin hovering above her, a grotesque smile on his face as she screamed to a god—any god—to save her, save her before she died in the land of the dead, save her so she could defeat Alduin.

A voice entered her mind, and whispered two words, two words so jarring and obvious that the fear that coursed through her veins left almost immediately.

_Become Ethereal_.

“ _FEIM!_ ”

She felt the Shout surround her, and just in time, too, since two seconds after she had become ethereal, she hit the ground. The impact shuddered through her body, and she could feel where it was supposed to hurt, but it didn’t. Nothing in her was hurt. All she could feel was a dull numbness that settled through her body, which stopped her from moving for a couple seconds after the impact.

She felt perfectly fine.

Two hands grabbed her arms, and she was wrenched to her feet by Gormlaith and Hakon. Felldir stood a couple metres away, keeping an eye on Alduin as he let out a a furious roar, angry that his plan to kill the Dragonborn had failed.

She lifted an arm up and showed him a gesture considered rude to everyone, and she hoped it was the same for dragons as Gormlaith gave her her sword back.

Alduin cried out again and soared down to them, so he could blast them with fire.

Not before Elsebet could get revenge, though.

“ _JOOR ZAH FRUL!_ ”

Alduin fell heavily to the ground, and Elsebet ran at him with a war cry on her tongue and Dragonbane brandished. Alduin snapped at her, and she slid onto the ground and under the dragon’s head, the blade of her sword up so it cut through the bottom of his jaw. He let out a shriek of pain, and she rolled to her feet before she jumped onto his neck, using his horn to pull her up.

He writhed ferociously, knocking Elsebet about, but she held on. She drove the blade between two scales and into his neck, and used the weight of her entire body to sink it hilt-deep into his neck. She jumped off his neck and rolled onto her feet, unsheathing her elven dagger just in case that didn’t kill him.

He started writhing again, though it wasn’t because there was someone on his neck.

No, his scales started melting off, sort of like when Elsebet killed a normal dragon, except Alduin was still alive.

“ _Zu’u unslaad!_ ” Alduin yelled at all of them. “ _Zu’u nis oblaan!_ ”

He raised up onto his hind legs, let out one last scream into the skies of Sovngarde, and all his scales blew off of him, like in an explosion, and the bones underneath were black and started to melt and disintegrate, until he was nothing.

There was no trace he had ever been there.

Elsebet stared at the spot Alduin had literally just melted in. Her sword fell from her grasp, and she sank to her knees. A laugh escaped her throat, and then she couldn’t hold then back. She continued to laugh, tears streaming down her cheeks, because he was dead.

Alduin was dead.

“Well done, Dragonborn,” Tsun said, appearing out of nowhere. “They will sing of this battle in Shor’s Hall forever. But your fate lies elsewhere. When you are ready to rejoin the living, just bid me so, and I will send you back.”

Elsebet climbed to her feet and looked at Tsun. “Hey, Tsun?”

“Yes, Dragonborn?”

“You know everyone that passes through Shor’s Hall, right?”

Tsun raised his brow. “I do. Why?"

She rubbed her arm. “My brother, Jorten, died eight years ago, in the Great Collapse in Winterhold. Did he make it into the Hall of Valour?”

A small smile appeared on the god’s face. “Aye. He did. He’s been waiting for you.”

“Elsebet?”

She looked away from Tsun and towards the Whalebone Bridge, where a boy of about fifteen years of age was standing, staring at her, dressed in a green tunic and brown trousers, his dark brown hair ruffled, and a bow and quiver strapped to his back—the same bow that was strapped to Elsebet’s back, though her quiver stood empty because of the fall.

She covered her mouth, and she choked out a sob. “Jorten?”

A grin appeared on her brother’s face, and he started running at her. She sprinted towards him as well, and they met in the middle, embracing each other so tightly it started to hurt, but Elsebet didn’t care—she finally got to see her brother again.

“I missed you, Jorten,” she said into his ear.

They let go of each other, but kept each other in arm’s distance. Jorten grinned. “I missed you too, _Dragonborn_.” He looked at her with pride. “I’m proud of the person you’ve grown up to be, sister. I’ve been following your adventures the best I could. I’m sorry about your companions.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to grow up,” she said, and fresh tears started running down her cheeks.

“You couldn’t do anything, you were eleven.” He put his hands on her shoulders, and there was quite an incline since Elsebet was six foot and Jorten, ever being the shortest sibling, was a good four inches shorter than her. “But it’s time you went back to the world of the living. You don’t belong here.”

She shook her head. “Neither do you.”

He smiled sadly. “Yes, I do. I died.” He dropped his arms and took a step back. “This is the place for the dead, not the living, so you need to get back.”

“You ready to go?” Tsun asked, appearing out of nowhere again.

She nodded, tears in her eyes, but she smiled. She had finally seen her brother again, and this time, she has a chance to say goodbye.

“Goodbye, brother.” 

_I’ll never see you again, so be safe_ , she thought.

“Be safe, sister,” he said.

She nodded, not saying anything. She didn’t know if she could bare it.

She turned to Tsun. “I’m ready. Return me to Tamriel.”

He nodded. “Return now to Nirn, with this rich boon from Shor, my lord: a Shout to bring a hero of Sovngarde in your hour of need.”

She could feel the Shout enter her, but it was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. It wasn’t like taking a Word from a Word Wall in the depths of a Nordic ruin, or having the Greybeards gifting it to her. No, she knew that this was a new Shout, one never seen before, and she knew she would be the only one to ever use it, if she did, in fact, use it.

“ _NAHL DAAL VUS!_ ”

Everything went black.


	40. It's a Sad Time for a Funeral

She was falling again, except this time, she wasn’t scared, and she knew what was going to happen.

Or, well, she _thought_ she knew what was going to happen.

After Tsun Shouted at Elsebet and sent her back to Skyrim, she thought she was going to appear in either Whiterun or at the portal in Skuldafn.

She was wrong on both accounts.  
  
Why?

Because she appeared on the top of the Throat of the World, surrounded by dragons, of which only two were familiar.

The sky was bright, the midday sun beating down on the mountain top, and the dragons reared their heads back and shouted at the sky, mourning their dead leader.

“Alduin _mahlaan!_ ”

“ _Sahrot thur qahnaraan!_ ”

They started leaping into the air, letting off a cry then flying off to separate places. Elsebet didn’t know where they were going, but she let them go. She was tired, and she was bleeding, and she needed healing.

They continued to fly, until Paarthurnax landed heavily on the broken Word Wall. She made her way over to him.

“So, it is done,” he said, his voice dreary and resigned. “The Eldest is no more, he who came before all others, and has always been.”

Elsebet crossed her arms over her chest. “I have no regrets. Alduin had to be destroyed.”

“Of course. Alduin _nahlaan daanii_. I would not have helped you if I thought otherwise.” He lifted his wings and shook then slightly, before lowering them again. “ _Rok funta koraav_. Perhaps now you have some insight into the forces that shape the _venessetiid_ … the currents of Time. But I forget myself. _Krosis_. _So los mid fahdon_. Melancholy is an easy trap for an old dovah to fall into. You have won a mighty victory. _Sahrot krongrah_ —one that will echo through all the ages of this world for those who have eyes to see. Saviour your triumph, Dovahkiin. This is not the last of what you will right upon the currents of Time.”

He leaped off the wall and flew into the air, circling above her as he continued to speak. “ _Goraan!_ I feel younger than I have in many an age. Many of the dovah are now scattered across _Keizaal_. Without Alduin’s lordship, they may yet bow to the _vahzen_ … rightness of my Thu’um.” He lowered himself in front of her, beating his wings to keep himself still in the air. “But willing or no, they will hear it! Fare thee well, Dovahkiin!”

And then he left, flying east.

The ground shook, and Elsebet turned around to see Odahviing, bright red against the white snow, on the ground a couple metres away from her, watching Paarthurnax as he flew after the other dragons to teach them the will of the good ways.

“ _Pruzah wundunne wah Wuth Gein_. I wish the Old One luck in his… quest. But I doubt many will wish to exchange Alduin’s lordship for the tyranny of Paarthurnax’s ‘Way of the Voice’. As for myself, you’ve proven your mastery twice over.” He bowed his head. “ _Thuri,_ Dovahkiin. I gladly acknowledge the power of your Thu’um. _Zu’u_ Odahviing. Call me when you have need, and I will come if I can.”

He then launched himself into the sky, circled once, and flew north, towards the snowy lands he called home.

And Elsebet was all alone on the Throat of the World.

* * *

 

It was a long walk to Whiterun.

Elsebet walked down the mountain and rested at the Vilemyr Inn for the rest of the day and throughout the night, though the innkeeper still didn’t realise she was the Dragonborn. She’d bought a health potion from a travelling vendor and drank it before she fell asleep, and when she woke up, the scabs on her cheek had turned to scars and the holes in her back—three big ones, like the two on her arm, on the left side of her back, one on the bottom near her hip, one near her waist, and one near her shoulder—her closed up mostly, though the tops were still opened and hadn’t scabbed. She’d put wrapped them up before she’d shrugged on her armour again, and she knew they were going to scar, too.

At dawn, she started on her way to Whiterun, and it took all day for her to get there, as her horse, Caspian, was still in Whiterun, as she was there before she’d gone to Skuldafn on the back of a dragon.

She got to Whiterun at dusk, where she quickly sold all her stuff she wanted to sell before heading up to Dragonsreach, where the Jarl was no doubt waiting for her to return with news of Alduin’s death.

When she entered the hall, he was sitting on his throne, fingers rapping against the hooded armrest. They stopped when he saw her, and he stood up, eye wide and mouth slightly agape.

“Shor’s bones,” he muttered as she drew near. “You did it.”

She stopped in front of him and nodded. “Aye. Alduin is dead.”

Jarl Balgruuf cheered. “I knew you could do it! This calls for a celebration!”

* * *

 

There was a party that lasted all night, though Elsebet went home early. She was still sore from her time in the land of the dead, and her wounds on her back hadn’t healed fully.

As she lay on her bed, looking at the roof, she thought it ironic that she defeated Alduin on the first of Frost Fall, since it was the start of the month, and the start of a new beginning. She wondered what Risorallen would be saying, if he was still alive.

She closed her eyes to hold back the tears. With everything that had been going on, there was no time for his funeral. They learned that the hard way with Lydia’s quickly-planned funeral. She didn’t want to subject that to Risorallen. Both of them deserved better.

The Belinius siblings had been planning it, though, while she was out saving the world. The funeral was to be held in Falkreath, on the fifth, two days from now.

Tomorrow would make it three weeks since he died.

She opened her eyes and rolled on to her side. Out of the five siblings, Elsebet hadn’t met the youngest one, Arcaelo. Risorallen had told her that she was part of the Thieves Guild, but they didn’t judge. They all had their talents, hers just happened to be larceny. 

The fact that it was all over made Elsebet comprehensive. It felt like such a short amount of time had gone by since Helgen all those weeks ago—and, really, it _had_ been short. The Oblivion Crisis lasted for a couple months—she couldn’t remember exactly how long—before the Champion of Cyrodiil defeated Mehrunes Dagon. Soon after that, she disappeared, with mention of her popping around all over the place, before she finally disappeared. If Elsebet listened to the legends, it said she went to the Shivering Isles and never came back. Some say she even _became_ Sheogorath.

Elsebet shivered. If that was the case, that meant the god she had met in the Blue Palace was the missing Hero.

She hoped she disappeared.

She didn’t know what she’d do with all the fame and glory that came with being the Dragonborn. Because that wasn’t her—not really, anyway. She’d been the hero of Nordic legend for almost two months, but it still didn’t feel real. It was like a type of dream, and she’d wake up and be in her bed in Winterhold, all of this just a bad dream.

She hoped it wasn’t.

* * *

 

The Falkreath sky was dull, reflecting the moods of the people attending the funeral for Risorallen Belinius. There were seven people there, watching the procession and mourning for the loss of their friend, their brother, their son.

Elsebet was the only one there that wasn’t family. He wasn’t that good at making friends, and it was only because of their time together that they had become friends. Out of the family, she only knew Cyrus, Zedronymus, and Aletara. She met Arcaelo and their parents, Alessatta and Masek, that morning, the latter throwing glared her way, a hand gripped tight on the handle of one of her twin ebony daggers, which she had no-doubt stolen.

The funeral itself was short and sweet. She had held back her tears, but when Zedronymus did the eulogy, a few ran down her cheeks.

“You all knew my brother,” he said, head back and back straight, though he wasn’t looking at the six people in front of him. He was looking through them, at the trees behind them. “To most of us, he was family. To Elsebet, he was a friend. He was kind. Caring. Compassionate. You all know this. Because you knew him. We were lucky enough to have the human representation of a ray of sunshine as our family; as our _friend_. But, there is some things about him that you don’t know, that he told me before he left to become a mercenary.

“When he was eighteen, he was attacked by a werewolf. Because of that, he himself turned into a werewolf, though he hid it well. He left home to protect us. That’s how caring he was.”

“Aren’t _you_ a werewolf?” Arcaelo asked.

He pointed at her. “Yes. But this isn’t about me. This is about Risorallen, who should have been here with us today, laughing and smiling like he usually did. I wish he _was_ here. But he’s not.” He took a deep breath. “He died trying to save the world. He saved Elsebet’s life, which let her go and and defeat Alduin. And while we wish he was here, he is in the Hunting Grounds with Hircine, and while we may never see him again, we know he wants us to be happy. Because we would him to be happy if we were dead.”

He hung his head, and walked over to his parents and hugged them. He started sobbing as they held onto him tight. Elsebet was surprised he had lasted the whole speech before he broke down crying.

They went to the inn, Dead Man’s Drink, to have one final toast to Risorallen before they went their separate ways, Alessatta and Masek to their manor not far from Falkreath, where the siblings grew up, Cyrus to Solitude, Zedronymus to Whiterun, Aletara to Winterhold, Arcaelo to Riften, and Elsebet to… somewhere.

She still needed to figure that part out.

With seven beers around the biggest table the inn had, they raised their tankards the the sky.

“To Risorallen,” Cyrus said.

The two words echoed around the table, before everyone tipped their heads back and drank. Arcaelo, who had turned eighteen just a couple days earlier, gulped down the liquid before slamming the mug on the table and standing up. She bid everyone farewell before she called for someone.  
  
“Let’s go, Rune.”

From the other side of the inn, a man stood up. He was dressed in the same armour as Arcaelo was; made of thick brown leather, the boots went up to his knees, which had padding on, the bracers as long as his forearm with padding on the elbows as well. There were a bunch of buckles that kept the cuirass on—too many, if Elsebet had a say—with various pouches lining the leather, giving him more room to store stuff.

Definitely a thief.

As he approached Arcaelo, he looked over at the group, and made eye-contact with Elsebet. His dark hair was long enough to touch his shoulders, and his eyes were a warm hazelnut colour that could get someone lost in them. As they shared at each other as he passed, she could tell he was definitely an Imperial, and that they’d be seeing each other again, sooner or later.

Arcaelo lifted a hood over her head, and the two of them left the inn.

Elsebet stood up. “I should be going. Goodbye.”

With a chorus of goodbyes, she left the table and left the inn.

She made her way over to Caspian, her horse. She pet his mane as she held his reigns, still wondering where she could go. She couldn’t go to Whiterun, because Zedronymus was there, and she couldn’t deal with seeing him almost every day, knowing that she got his brother killed. That ruled out Winterhold, Solitude, Riften, and staying in Falkreath, too.

She thought back to a conversation she and Risorallen had while they travelled from the top of the Throat of the World to Winterhold. She had asked him where he would go if he gave up being a mercenary.

_“I wouldn’t be able to leave Skyrim,” he said. “My family’s here, and I’ve lived here all my life. I’d go somewhere where they weren’t, though, since they can get annoying at times. I’d still live in a city. Can’t stand small towns like Falkreath.”_

_“Weren’t you in Riverwood, though?” She asked him._

_He shook his head. “Just passing through, heading for Whiterun so there was a better chance of getting hired.” He thought for a second. “Markarth. I’ve always wanted to go there, and we haven’t been there yet.”_

_She laughed. “Maybe some day.”_

Markarth.

She saw a guard not far from her.

“Excuse me,” she said, getting his attention. “Can you give me directions to Markarth?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end of Elsebet's first story. Before her next story starts, I'm gonna go on a short hiatus, as I'm not as far through it as I thought I would be. It'll only be a two-week one, where hopefully I get a lot more done :)
> 
> See you then.
> 
> \- NotLikeYouThink


End file.
